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A BOOK OF POEMS 



EDITED BY 



VOLNEY H. FREEMAN 



33 



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PEORIA, ILLINOIS. 




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Entered according to Act of^Congress, in the year 1888, by 

V. H. FKEEMAN, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 








DEDICATED TO MY SON 



FRANK A. FREEMAN 





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PREFACE. 










it may be of some importance to the general public, and especially 

to the readers of my "Book op Poems," to know why the names of 

'■he almost numberless authors, whose poetry fill these pages, have 

not been accredited to each piece, as is usually the case,- 1 will 

state that, while the great majority of them are productions of the 

most noted men and women who have ever written poetry, yet some 

of them are of my own production, to which I don't care to attach 

my name, and in order to be justified in doing so, I concluded to omit the names 

f all, leaving the reader to accredit those to me which appear to be new, or 

those with which they may not be familiar enough to recognize the authors. 

Having strong faith that every person, into whose hands a copy of this 
volume may chance to fall, will be edified, educated, and made truly better pre- 
pared to discharge the duties of life, and make stronger the ties of Love, Affec- 
tion and Friendship which ever bind us each to the other, 1 herewith submit 
this vast and varied collection of " Choice Poems." 

V. H. FREEMAN. 









A IHOOK OF POEMS 




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y/ 







a Book of Poems 



IT MAY BE GLORIOUS TO WRITE. 

It may be glorious to write 

Thoughts that shall glad the two or 
three 
High souls, like stars that come in sight 

Ouce in a century; — 

But better far it is to speak 

One simple word, which now and then 
Shall waken nature in the weak 

And friendless sons of men; 

To write some earnest verse or line 
Which, seeking not the praise of art, 

Shall make clear faith and manhood 
shine 
In the untutored heart. 

He, who doth this in verse or prose 
May be forgotten in his day, 

But shall be crowned at last with those 
Who live and speak for aye. 



A SENSIBLE YOUNG LADY. 

They sat in the firelight together, 

For the winds of the winter were rude, 
And she was a lady of fashion, 

And he was a dear little dude, 
With an innocent smile and an eye-glass, 

And a collar of wonderful height, 
And hair a la pompadour standing, 

As if he had suffered a fright. 

"Now, Charlie," she tenderly murmured, 

" I am lonely when you are not here, 
So I'm going to get a companion, 
A pug — such a sweet little dear! 



With eyes like a couple of marbles; 

And a nose that 's as black as a crow, 
And then when you 've other engage- 
ments, 

I will never miss you, know." 

Then up rose the dude in his anger, 

And his eye-glasses flashed in the light. 
" You know how I hate and despise them, 
You must choose, and between us to- 
night." 
"Ah me," said his lady-love, sighing, 

" I really do n't wish to be rude, 

But if 1 must be happy with either, 

I prefer a pug dog to a dude." 



TO CAROLINE. 

Like a fragrant Havana 

Long kept from the light 
Ere its loveliness fadeth 

In ashes and night; — 
Like a saint in his cloister — 

A monk in his cell: 
Like a York River oyster 

Shut tight in his shell: 
Like a toad in a grind-stone 

A calm in the sea — 
My heart is bound up, 

Dearest maiden in thee! 



THE ONE WAY TRUE. 

Take time by the foretop whatever you 
do — 

And if you would win a widow prize — 
To be sure of success, the one way true, 

Is to win her before her husband dies 




A liOOK OF POEMS 







ALMOST. 

A little apple blossom fluttered down 
And lightly came between the lips of 
two 
Who just that moment would have 
changed a kiss 
But for the warning 
breeze blew. 



that the light 



She started back, and in a nervous laugh 
Refused to kiss, and in her rosy hand 

Graily held up the dainty cup of pink, 
Loosed, and set floating by some fairy 
wand. 

And so she kept it for a little while, 
And in a few short, fleeting months 
from then 
She'sent it to him on his wedding day, 
Writing, "An emblem of the hearts of 
men." 



FOREVER. 






The wide world hastens on its way 

The" gray-haired century near its close, 
Its sorrow deepens day by day, 

The summer blush forsakes the rose. 
But, darling, while your voice I hear, 

And while your dark brown eyes I see, 
Sad months and sunless seasons' drear 
Are all the same, all glad to me. 
Despair can never reach me, 

While your soft hand I hold, 
While your eyes love and teach me, 
I never shall grow old. 

They say that love forsakes the old, 

That passion pales and fades away, 
That even love's bright locks of gold 

Must lose their charms and turn to gray, 
But, darling, while your heart is mine, 

And while I feel that you are true, 
For me the skies will ever shine, 

With summer light and tenderest blue. 
Yes, let the old age deride me, 
I scorn his mocking tongue 
Dear love, with you beside me, 
T am forever young. 



THE MAID AND HER SAILOR. 

A maid and her sailor lad stood by the 
shore, 
To watch at the sunset the fast-ebbing 
tide; 
And while the last rays of red glory came 
o'er, 
'T was thus that the fond one half 
weeping cried — 
Wherever thou rovest, o'er ocean or land, 
If storms be around thee or sunny the 
sky, 
Remember the motto I write on the sand, 
Oh! rather than change, it were better 
to die. , 

From the Ind in the east, and the lies in 
the west, 
The sailor lad back to his native vale 
came; 
The maiden once more he clasped to his 
breast, 
And found her in beauty and kindness 
the same; 
He kisses her now, and she presses his 
hand, 
While the tear sparkles bright in her 
loving blue eye, 
For he hath remembered the words on 
the sand — 
Oh! rather than change, it were better 
to die. 



DEAR MAIDEN. 

To a lovely face and air, 

Let a tender heart be joined, 

Love can make you doubly fair; 
Music's sweeter when you 're kind. 



SHE STOPPED ME. 

She stopped me. " I 'm sorry," she mur- 
mured discreetly, 
u But, you see, I 'm engaged!" and pre- 
tended to sigh: 

While a swift recollection upset me com- 
pletely — 

"Great Caesar! " I gasped, "I forgot. So 
am I!" 




9 



s>±- 



Wl 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ADALINE. 

There 's matchless beauty in the dark blue 
sea, 
In flower enameled fields, and radiant 
skies; — 
In all things there is beauty, but to me, 
Naught seems so lovely as thy soul-lit 
eyes: 
No shape of earth there is in beauty 
dressed, 
Like that which Nature on thy form 
impressed. 



MARY. 



What though the name is old and oft re- 
peated, 
What though a thousand beings bear 
it now; 
And true hearts oft the gentle word have 
greeted, — 
What though 'tis hallowed by a poet's 
vow? 
We ever love the rose and yet its bloom- 
ing 
Is a familiar rapture to the eye, 
And yon bright star we hail, although its 
looming 
Age after age has lit the northern sky. 

As starry beams o 'er troubled billows 
stealing, 
As garden odors to the desert blown, 
In bosoms faint a gladsome hope reveal- 
ing- 
Like patriot music or affection's tone — 
Thus, thus, for aye, the name of Mary 
spoken 
By lips or text with magic-like control, 
The course of present thought has quickly 
broken, 
And stirred the fountains of my inmost 
soul. 



The sweetest tales of human weal and 

sorrow, 

The fairest trophies of the limner's 

fame, 

To my fond fancy, Mary, seem to borrow 

Celestial halos from thy gentle name; 




The Grecian artist gleaned from many 
faces, 
And in a perfect whole the parts com- 
bined, 
So I have garnered up dear woman's 
graces 
To form the Mary of my ardent mind. 

What spirits round my weary way are 
plying, 
What fortunes on my future life await, 
Like the mysterious hymns the winds are 
sighing, 
Are all unknown — in trust, I bide my 
fate ; 
But if one blessing I might crave from 
Heaven, 
'Twould be that Mary should my being 
cheer, 
Hang o'er me when the chord of life is 
riven, 
Be my dear household word, and my 
last accent here. 



LOVE THY NEIGHBOR AS 
THYSELF. 

He. 

"Love thy neighbor as thyself. — 

When at dawn I meet her, 
As by the garden wall she stands, 
And gives me flowers across the wall, 
My heart goes out to kiss her hands — 

Are hands or flowers the sweeter? — 
I'm ready at her feet to fall, 

Or like a clown to labor! — 
Better than I love myself 

Do I love my neighbor. " 

She. 

"Love thy neighbor as thyself. — 

When at dawn I meet him, 
As by the garden wall he stands, 
And takes my flowers across the wall, 
My soul's already in his hands — 

It flew so fast to greet him! 
And oh, I grow so proud and tall, 

My heart beats like a tabor! — 
Better than I love myself 

Do I love my neighbor. " 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



A WIFE. 

When a man of sense comes to marry, 
it is a companion that he wants, not an 
artist. It is not merely a creature who 
can paint or play, and sing and dance; it 
is a being who can comfort and judge, 
discourse and discriminate; one who can 
assist him in his affairs, lighten his sor- 
rows, purify his joys, strengthen his prin- 
ciples, and educate his children. Such is 
the woman who is fit for a mother and 
the mistress of a family. A woman of 
the former description occasionally fig- 
ures in the drawing room, and attracts 
the admiration of company; but she is 
entirely unfit for a helpmate to a man, 
and to " train up a child in the way he 
should go. 1 ' 



A SKETCH. 



There was a tinge of red upon her cheek, 

Sweet as the last departing rosiness 

Of early morn, that fainter and more 

faint 
Waxeth before the coming of the sun. 
Her eyes were filled with brightness till 

their light 
Overflowed and beamed upon the gazer. 

Love 
Gave to her charms a pensive melancholy, 
So sweet, that man might scan her entire 

look 
To fall in love with sadness. O'er her 

harp 
Her fingers danced, and from their rosy 

tips 
Sprang music into being. While her hair, 
Wooed by the am'rous wind moved mod- 
estly, 
To 'scape the rude caressing, thus she 

sang: 

Where the waves are high in motion 
On the ocean 

Bold and free, 
Where the tempest spirits hover 
Roams my lover 

Bold and free. 
Mermaids with their melody, 
Charm his ear and lead him back to me. 



Of all others he is fairest; 
Beauty rarest 

Ou his form; 
Heaven shield him with his errors 
From the terrors 

Of the storm. 
Mermaids with their melody, 
Charm his ear and lead him back to me. 

Alas! for human happiness. The one she 

loved 
Ne'er met her gaze again. Months passed 

away, 
And still so lonely and so sad she seemed, 
You might have deemed her a Penelope, 
Waiting for her Ulysses. 

Fie on truth ! 
I saw her yesternight. A score of years 
Had passed since she and I had met be- 
fore 
I left her sad and sorrowing for her loss, 
Vowing to live and die unwed; and find 
That now she is a Mrs. Howard Stubbs 
As happy now as she was beautiful. 




THOU ART CHANGED. 

Yes ! Thou art changed since first we met, 

But 't is not that thy cheek has faded, 
Nor years like mine of vain regret 

The lustre of thine eyes have shaded. ] 
Around thee linger fondly still 

Each charm that lured my soul of 
yore — 
Thy form's pure grace, thy tone's soft 
thrill; — 

'Tis that we meet and love no more! 

Yes! thou art changed; what tongue had 
dared 
To tell me once what time has proved 
thee? 
Have I in vain thy sorrow shared, 

In pain, in hopeless absence loved thee! 
Like shells that through the waves look 
bright, 
But cold and dull are cast on shore, 
My dream has lost its fairy light, 

And now we meet — and love no more ! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




HEART. 

heart, whatever lot to thee God gives, 
Be strong, and swerve not from a 

blameless way, 
Dishonor hurts the soul that ever lives, 
Death hurts the body that is kin with 

clay. 
Though duty's face is stern, her path is 

best: 
They sweetly sleep who die upon her 

breast. 



A LOVER'S QUARREL. 

You have heard we quarreled, Jack and I! 
Well, yes — perhaps I can't deny 
There was some trifling reason why 

He should be jealous; 
But when command he tries to show 
(He quickly dropped the pretense, tho 1 ), 
He seemed — I plainly told him so — 

Quite over-zealous. 

A week went by before we met — 

A weary time I can't forget; 

My days were spent in vain regret 

And indignation; 
While with that stranger, Miss Sinclair, 
(They raved about her beauty rare — 
I ne'er perceived it, I declare), 

He held flirtation. 

At last within the crowded hall, 

The night the Darcy's gave their ball, 

He calmly passed in sight of all, 

Not even glancing. 
She leaned serenely on his arm; 
I watched as drawn by magic charm, 
And tremble with a strange alarm, 

Yet went on dancing. 

A fruitless effort to be gay 

I made — then softly slipped away, 

Unheeding what the girls might say — 

I know 't was silly! 
And screened from sight my tell-tale face 
Within an entry's narrow space; 
It formed a welcome hiding place, 

But rather chilly! 




Unnoticed, coldly cast aside, 

I yielded then to grief and cried, 

Yet struggled hard to summon pride 

To my assistance. 
When some one gently called my name, 
And straightway o'er the threshold came: 
I hung my head for very shame, 

Nor made resistance. 

What happened then I need not tell, 

We bid to flirting firm farewell; 

We whispered, while my tear-drops fell, 

In accents mellow; 
And now from fears we both are free, 
For Jack had foolish doubts, you see — 
As if he wasn't sure of me, 

Dear, stupid follow. 



WOMANKIND. 

In trifling, visits, pride, impertinence, 
Dress, dancing, and discourse devoid of 

sense; 
To twirl a fan, to please some foolish 

beau, 
And sing an empty song, the most they 

know; 
In body weak, more impotent of mind, 
Thus many represent their womankind. 



BEAUTIFUL MABEL. 

Thy beauty, ante-past of joys above, 
Instructs me in the bliss that saints ap- 
prove; 
For 0, how good, how beautiful, must be 
The God that made so good a thing as 
thee. 



EXCULPATION. 

Wilt thou dare to blame the woman for 

her seeming sudden changes, 

Swaying east and swaying westward as 

the breezes shade the tree? 

Fool! thy selfish thought misguides thee 

— find the man that never ranges; 

Woman wavers but to seek him — is not 

then the fault in thee? 







A BOOK OF POEMS 

\ 




MINERVA. 

No power in death can tear our names 

apart, 
As none in life could rend thee from my 

heart. 



A WOMAN WITH A MISSION. 

She declaimed with fervid vigor, on the 
mysery of the Digger, cut a most dram- 
atic figure while lamenting his condition. 

And she said the bare Numidian, and 
the much tanned Abyssinian, and the 
Cannibal and Guinean, overflowed her 
with contrition. 

And her deep sighs filled the breezes, 
for those lands where bread and cheese 
is; for the Turks and the Chineses she was 
filled with deep emotion. 

And her ardent love was greater, all 
the more she strove to cater to the tribes 
beyond th' Equator or across a distant 
ocean. 

And like Rachel, the sweet Jewess, she 
wept tears as thick as glue is, at the ac- 
tion of St. Louis, and Chicago's degrada- 
tion; 

And that these towns, where such sin 
is, such a race for golden guineas, might 
be made as good as Lynn is, was her 
prayer and supplication. 

For the wild man of Alaska, or of 
barb'rous Madagascar, she would say if 
you would ask her, that her love was 
deep and tender. 

While her husband, luckless victim, 
looked as if his wife had licked him, and 
through back streets where she kicked 
him, walked about with one suspender. 



WOMAN. 



For woman due allowance make! 

Formed of a crooked rib was she. 
Attempt to bend her and she '11 break; 

By Heaven, she could not straightened 
be. 

cP 



TO ALICE. 

All that's lovely speaks of thee ! 

When the glorious sun appeareth, 
'Tis thy harbinger to me; 

Only thus he cheereth. 

In the garden where thou go'st, 
There art thou the rose of roses, 

First of lilies fragrant most 
Of the fragrant posies. 



PROXIMITY. 



I know not wherefore, dearest love, 

Thou often art so strange and coy! 
When 'mongst men's busy haunts we 
move, 
Thy coldness puts to flight my joy. 
But soon as night and silence round us 
reign, 
I know thee by thy kisses sweet again. 



PERFECT BLISS. ALAMEDA. 

All the divine perfections which, while 
here, 

Nature in thrift doled out 'mongst many 
a fair, 
She showered with open hand, thou 
peerless one, on thee! 

And she, that was so wond'rously en- 
dowed, 

To whom a throng of noble knees were 
bowed, 
Gave all — love's perfect gift — her 
glorious self to me! 



THE FIRST BABY. A MOTHER. 

When first thou'camest, gentle, shy, and 

fond, 
My eldest born, first hope, and dearest 

treasure, 
My heart received thee with a joy beyond 
All that it yet had felt of earthly 

pleasure; 
Nor thought that any love again might 

be 
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



NATURE CHANGES NOT. 

Tf the ass that bore the Savior 

Were to Mecca driven, he 
Still an ass in his behavior, 
Would not alter, bst would be. 



BUT IF FOR ME. 

Now, if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worshiped image from its base, 
To give to me the ruined place; 
Then fare thee well! — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
Where thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine. 



LINES ON LOVE. 

There is no worldly pleasure here below, 
Which by experience doth not folly 
prove; 
But among all the follies that I know, 

The sweetest folly in the world is love; 
But not that passion which, with fool's 
consent, 
Above the reason bears imperious sway, 
Making their life-time a perpetual Lent, 
As if a man were born to fast and pray. 
No, that is not the humor I approve, 
As either yielding pleasure or promo- 
tion; 
I like a mild and lukewarm zeal in love, 
Although I do not like it in devotion; 
For it has no coherence with my creed, 
To think that love die as they pre- 
tend; 
If all that say they die had died, indeed, 
Sure, long ere now the world had had 
an end. 
Besides, we need not love but if we please, 
No destiny can force man's disposition; 
And can any die of that disease 

Whereof himself may be his own phy- 
sician ? 

But some seem so distracted of their wits, 
That I would think it but a venial sin 
To take some of those innocents that sits 
>\ In bedlam out, and put some lovers in. 



Yet some men, rather than incur the 
slander 
Of true apostates, will false martyrs 
prove; 
But I am neither Tphis nor Leander, 
I '11 neither drow r n nor hang myself for 
love. 
Methinks a wise man's actions should be 
such 
As always yield to reason's best advice; 
Now for to love too little or too much j 
Are both extremes, and all extremes are 
vice. 
Yet have I been a lover by report, 

Yea, I have dy 'd for love, as others do; 
But, praise be God, it was in'such a sort, 
That I revived within an hour or two. 
Thus have I lived, thus have^I loved till 
now, 
And find no reason to repent me'yet; 
And whosoever other ways^ill ^do, 
His courage is as little as hisjwit. 



GIVE ME THINE. ALMA. 

One morning, on the sea shore, as I 
strayed, 
My heart dropped in the sand beside 
the sea; 
I asked of yonder'mariners, who said 
They saw it in thy bosom, worn by 
thee. 

Then I have none, and thou, alas! hast 
two: 
And I am come to seek that heart of 
mine; 
If this be so, dost know what thou shalt 
do? — 
Still keep my heart, and give me — give 
me thine. 



IT PAYS. 



It pays to give a helping hand 

To eager, earnest youth; 
To note, with all their waywardness, 

Their courage and their truth. 
It pays to comfort heavy hearts, 

Oppressed with dull despair, 
And leave in sorrow darkened lives, 

One gleam of brightness there. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




LIED LIKE A LAWYER. 

First, he courted his charmer in sorrow- 
ful fashion, 

And lied like a lawyer to move her com- 
passion. 



THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. 

Oh, I have a husband as good as can be; 
No woman could wish for a better than 

he! 
Sometimes, indeed, he may chance to be 

wrong, 
But his love for me is uncommonly strong ! 

Be has one little fault that makes me fret, 
He has always less money, by far, than 

debt; 
Moreover he thrashes me, now and then — 
But, excepting that, he 's the best of men! 

I own he is dreadfully given to drink; 
And, besides, he is rather too fond, I 

think, 
Of playing ^t cards and dice; but then, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of men! 

He loves to chat with the girls I know 
( 'T is the way with the men, — they 're 

always so), 
But what care I for his flirting, when, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of men! 

I can 't but say I think he is rash 
To pawn my pewter, and spend the cash; 
But how can I scold my darling, when, 
Excepting that, he 's the best of men? 

Yet such is the loyalty I have shown; 
But I have a spouse who is all my own; 
As good, indeed, as a man can be, 
And who could ask for a better than he? 



JULIA. 



Some asked me where the rubies grew, 

And nothing did I say, 
But with my finger pointed to 

The lips of Julia. 



KITTY OF COLERAINE. 

As beautiful Kitty one morning was trip- 
ping 
With a pitcher of milk from the fair 
of Coleraine, 
When she saw me she stumbled, the 
pitcher it tumbled, 
And all the sweet buttermilk watered 
the plain. 

" 0, what shall I do now — 't was looking 
at you now! 
Sure, such a pitcher I '11 ne'er meet 
again ! 
'T was the pride of my dairy, 0, Barney 
McCleary! 
You 're sent as a plague to the girls of 
Coleraine!" 



I sat down beside her, and gently did 
chide her, 
That such a misfortune should give her 
such pain, 
A kiss then I gave her, and ere I did leave 
her 
She vowed for such pleasure she 'd 
break it again. 

'T was hay-making season — I can 't tell 
the reason — 
Misfortunes will never come single, 't is 
plain; 
For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster 
The devil a pitcher was whole in Cole- 
raine. 



THE LAST WORD. 

To lose you, dear, at a single stroke, 
And never have time to say good-bye," 

And then to recall how last we spoke, 
So rough, so bitterly, you and I — 

Too late! and I cannot revoke. 

Can not? I can, I will, I must! 

Those words I uttered they were not 
true; 
I swear with my lips laid low in the dust, 

I never meant what I said to you, 
When I gave that hasty thrust. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



^D 



AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY. 

He struggled to kiss her. She struggled 
the same 
To prevent him, so bold and undaunted; 
But as smitten by lightning he heard her 
exclaim, 
"Avaunt, sir!" and off heavaunted. 

But when he returned with the fiendisk- 
est laugh, 
Showing clearly that he was affronted, 
And threatened by main force to carry 
her off, 
She cried "Don't!" and the poor fel- 
low donted. 

When he meekly approached, and sat 
down at her feet, 
Praying aloud, as before he had ranted, 
That she would forgive him and try to be 
sweet, 
And said " Can't you ! " the dear girl 
recanted, 

Then softly he whispered, " How could 

you do so? 
I certainly thought I was jilted; 
But come thou with me, to the parson 

we'll go; 
Say wilt thou, my dear?" and she 

and she wilted. 



EARLY RISING. 

" Rise with the lark, and with the lark to 

bed," 

Observes some solemn, sentimental owl, 

Maxims like these are very cheaply said: 

But, ere you make yourself a fool or 

fowl, 

Pray just inquire about their rise and 

fall — 
And whether larks have any bed at all! 

The 'time for honest folks to be abed' 
Is in the morning, if I reason right; 

And he who cannot keep his precious head 
Upon his pillow till it 's fairly light, 

And so enjoy his forty morning winks, 

Is up — to knavery; or else — he drinks! 



Thompson, who sung about the " seasons " 
said 
It was a glorious thing to rise in season; 
But then he said it — lying — in his bed 
At ten o'clock, a. m. — the very reason 
He wrote so charmingly. The simple 

fact is, 
His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his 
practice. 

'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes 

awake — 
Awake to duty and awake to truth — 
But when, alas! a nice review we take 
Of our best deeds and days, we find, in 

sooth, 
The hours that leave the slightest cause 

to weep 
Are those we passed in childhood, or — 

asleep! 

'T is beautiful to leave the world awhile 
For the soft visions of the gentle night; 

And free at last from mortal care and 
guile, 
To live, as only in the angel's sight, 

In sleep's sweet realms so cosily shut in, 

Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin! 

So let us sleep, and give the Maker paise. 
I like the lad who, when his father 

thought 
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed 

phrase 
Of vagrant worm by early songster 

caught, 
Cried, " Served hitn right, it 's not at all 

surprising, 
The worm was punished, sir, for early 

rising ! " 



AN IDYL. 



Beneath a shady tree they sat, 

He held her hand, she held his hat; 

I held my breath, and lay quite flat. 

They kissed — I saw them do it; 
He held that kissing was no crime; 
She held her head up every time; 
I held my peace and wrote this rhyme, 

While they thought no one knew it. 






3& 






'C 



10 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHANGE. 

I ask not what change 

Has come over thy heart, 
I seek not what chances 

Have doomed us to part; 
I know thou hast told me. 

To love thee no more, 
And I still must obey 

Where 1 once did adore. 



WHAT IS ONE SMILE WORTH? 

Not all the gold that was ever found 
In the busy wealth-finding past, 

Would I take for one smile of my darling's 
face, 
Did I know it must be the last. 



SO SHE REFUSED HIM. 

Last night, within the little curtained 
room, 
Where the gay music sounded faintly 
clear, 
And silver lights came stealing through 
the gloom, 
You told the tale that women loved to 
hear; 
You told it well, with firm hands clasp- 
ing mine, 
And deep eyes glowing with a tender 
light, ' 
Mere acting? But your prayer was half 
divine 
Last night. Last night. 

Ah! you had much to offer; wealth enough 

To gild the future, and a path of ease 
For one whose way is somewhat dark and 
rough; 
New friends — life calm as summer 
seas, 
And something (was it love?) to keep us 
true, 
And make us precious in each other's 
sight, 
Ah! then, indeed, my heart's resolve I 
knew 
Last night. Last night. 




Let the world go, with all its dross and 
pelf, 
Only for one, like Portia, could I say, 
" I would be trebled twenty times my- 
self;" 
Only for one, and he is far away; 
His voice came back to me, distinct and 
dear, 
And thrilled me with the pain of lost 
delight; 
The present faded, but the past was clear, 
Last night. Last night. 

If others answered as I answered then, 
We would hear less, perchance, of 
blighted lives; 
There would be truer women, nobler men, 
And fewer dreary homes and faithless 
wives; 
Because I could not give you all my best 
I gave you nothing. Judge me, was I 
right? 
You may thank heaven that I stood the 
test, 
Last night. Last night. 



LOVE'S ARITHMETIC. 

She was one, and I was one, 
Strolling o'er the heather, 
Yet before the year was gone 
We were one together. 

Love's a queer arithmetician — 
In the rule of his addition 
He lays down the proposition: 
One and one make one. 

She and I, alas! are two, 
Since, unwisely mated, 
Having nothing else to do, 
We were separated. 

Now 'twould seem that by this action 
Each was made a simple fraction. 
Yet 'tis held in love's substraction 
One from one leaves two. 



EQUALITY. 



Children of wealth or want, to each is 

given 
One spot of green, and all the blue of 

heaven. <jn 



£^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



11 



<F* 






BY THE SEA. 

Last year we paced the yellow sands 

Beside the restless sea; 
I held in mine your tiny hands 

And drew you close to me. 
I marked your blushes come and go, 

The sigh, the smile, the tear; 
The words you whispered soft and low, 

Were music in my ear. 

We too were dreaming love's young 
dream 

Besides the murmuring sea; 
Yaur presence made the whole earth seem 

A Paradise to me; 
We said, our love will never change, 
Would no abatement know 
While life should last — it seems so 
strange 



Once more we pace the yellow sands 

Beside the summer sea; 
I do not hold your tiny hands, 

You do not cling to me; 
I do not press you to my heart 

And kiss your snowy brow — 
We're strolling twenty years apart, 

You see, we 're married now. 



NANCY. 



In brown holland apron she stood in the 
kitchen, 
Her sleeves were rolled up, and her 
cheeks all aglow; 
Her hair was coiled neatly, and I, indis- 
creetly, 
Stood watching while Nancy was knead- 



Now, who could be neater, or brighter, or 
sweeter, 
Or who hum a song so delightfully low, 
Or who look so slender, so gracefully 
tender, 
As Nancy; sweet Nancy, while knead- 
ing the dough? 
rf 



How deftly she pressed it, and squeezed 
and caressed it, 
And twisted and turned it, now quick 
and now slow; 
Ah, me, but that madness I 've paid for 
in sadness! 
'T was my heart she was kneading as 
well as the dough. 

At last, when she turned for her pan to 
the dresser, 
She saw me and blushed, and said shyly, 
"Please, go! 
Or my bread '11 be spoiling in spite of my 
toiling, 
If you stand here and watch while I'm 
kneading the dough." 

I begged for permission to stay. She 'd 
not listen; 
The sweet little tyrant said, "No, sir! 
no! no!" 
Yet when I had vanished on being thus 
banished, 
My heart stayed with Nancy while 
kneading the dough. 

I 'm dreaming, sweet Nancy, and see you 
in fancy, 
Your heart, love, has softened, and 
pitied my woe; 
And we, dear, are rich, in a dainty wee 
kitchen! 
Where Nancy, my Nancy, stands knead 
ing the dough. 



UNSPOKEN. 



The eyes in their glances and silent ad- 
vances, 
Of lovers whose hearts are entwined, 
Read beautiful stories whose magical lore 



is 



What others have never in mind. 

Like flashes of lightning, the stormy way 
bright'ning, 
. The thinking too subtle to word, 
So swift and amazing, delights the sweet 
gazing, 
Of lovers whose speech is unheard! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TOMORROW CHEATS US ALL. 

Tomorrow cheats us all. Why dost thou 

stay 
And leave undone what should be done 

to-day ? 
Begin — the present minute's in thy 

power; 
But still t' adjourn, and wait a fitter hour, 
Is like the clown, who at some river's 

side 
Expecting stands, in hopes the running 

tide 
Will all ere long be past — fool! not to 

know 
It still has flowed the same, and will for- 
ever flow. 



I COULD NOT HEAR ALL THEY 
SAID. 

I could not hear all they must have said, 

But as I sat beside the little stream, 
I watched them part with just one angry 
word, 
She passed me quickly with a down- 
dropped head, 
Red cheeks, eyes flashing with their scorn- 
ful gleam, 
A hasty step as by deep passion stirred ; 
She did not turn nor look back where 

she stood, 
But vanished quickly in the deep green 
wood. 

I watched him sigh, then noted how he 

gazed, 
At her retreating form; he whistled 

low; 
And softly to himself, in deepest thought, 
He whispered: " Is she vexed? 11 — then 

was amazed 
That 1 t was in truth, she really meant to 

go. 
He looked once more as if, indeed, he 

sought 
To bring her back; but on she went that 

day — 
Then he went too — but went the other 

way. 




They never met again, but oft I see 
The girl, a woman grown, come by this 

seat, 
And gaze into the stream wirh tear-worn 

eyes; 
And then I wonder why such things 

should be! 
If she had turned her head or stayed her 

feet 
Life would have altered, love's bright 

sunny skies 
Shone o 'er her ever! 'Tis but things like 

this, 
That form our lives, and make our woe 

or bliss. 



LUCILE. 



Have nectared roses lost their power to 
gain 

Thy fond caress? 
Do woodbine blooms, with lofty scorn, 
disdain 

Thy lovliriess? 



HOW TO TELL A GIRL'S ACE. 

Girls of marriageable age do not like 
to say how old they are, but you can find 
out by following the subjoined instruc- 
tions, the young lady to do all the fig- 
uring: 

Tell her to put down the number of 
the month in which she was born; then 
to multiply it by 2; then to add 5; then 
to multiply it by 50; then to add her age; 
then subtract 365; shen to add 115; then 
have her tell you the amount she has 
left. The two figures to the right will 
denote her age, and the remainder the 
month of birth. 



UNION. 



So strict's the union of a loving pair, 
What Heaven decrees for one, they both 
must share. 



TRUE. 



He iests at scars who never felt a wound. Jm 




K 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A TRIBUTE. 

I'll strew fresh roses in the way 
Where walks my love at close of day, 
And meet her when the sunset lies, 
Transfigured in the twilight skies, 
And bid her view the splendor there 
Not more sublime than she is fair. 



BEAUTY. 



As long as the world has such lips and 
such eyes, 
As before me, this moment, enraptured 
I see, 
They may say what they will of the stars 
and the skies, 
But this earth has a planet sufficient 
for me. 



BILLY DID. 



" Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." 

She was a winsome country lass, 

So William on a brief vacation, 
More pleasantly the time to pass 
Essayed flirtation: 

And as they strolled in twilight dim, 

While near the time for parting drew, 
Asked if she 'd like to have from him 
A billet-doux. 

Of French this simple maid knew naught, 
But doubting not 'twas something nice 
Upon its meaning quickly thought, 
Then in a trice 

Upward she turned her pretty head; 

Her rosy lips together drew 
For purpose plain, and coyly said: 
" Yes, Billy, do !" 

L'Envoi: 
And Billy did, "you bet !" 



CUSTOM AND POLITENESS. 

Custom is the law of fools, and Polite- 
ness is half-sister to Charity. 



UNDECEIVED. 

BY AN OLD BACHELOR. 

Ah, well I remember my fair Anastasia, 
The time the young maiden was sweet 
seventeen, 
You might search the whole world clear 
from Europe to Asia, 
And find none so bright as this young 
fairy queen. 
She would play the piano with her sister 
Hannah, 
Sonatas of Mozart and waltzes of 
Strauss, 
Selections from Haydn, this charming 
young maiden, 
And raise up such a din all over the 
house. 

This was long years ago, and last night 
at a serious 
Party of scientists, swells, and their 
wives, 
In walked a lady, close veiled and mys- 
terious, 
Who looked as though she 'd the most 
doleful of lives; 
She took post at the organ, I knew 'twas 
a foregone 
Conclusion she 'd play us a wail or a 
dirge, 
Or a wild miserere, sufficient to scare ye, 
Like gales on " Ontary," fierce sweep- 
ing its surge. 

I looked at her face, and there sat Anas- 
tasia — 
Her visage was haggard, and silvered 
her hair, 
Ah, poor Anastasia, oh how can I face 
you ! 
Your grief at my absence was too much 
to bear ! 
She looked up and knew me said: " How 
do you do ? My 
Husband will shortly be here. I '11 be 
pleased 
To make you acquainted." I then nearly 
fainted, 
A pleasant thing, ain 't it, to be unde- 
ceived ? 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



SOLD. 

It was a dreary summer eve when all 
nature seemed to weave a halo of delight 
and leave it bending from the sky. 

Earth and air were all atune on that 
balmy night in June; ah! such evenings 
flit too soon into the past, and buried lie. 

They sat together in a box, he a man 
of many rocks, an antiquated sly old fox; 
she as blooming as a bride. 

They watched the piece upon the stage, 
'twas an opera all the rage, and she 
thought not of his age as they laughed 
in turn and sighed. 

It is the tale you oft have heard — the 
same has frequently occurrod; 'twas not 
the second time nor third that May has 
sought November. 

She was an heiress — so reported, and 
assiduously he courted, and the love that 
he disported was no sickly, feeble ember. 

And he dealt in railroad stocks, had a 
bank, owned several blocks — so he told 
her in the box as he held her trembling 
hand. 

Were they married? I confess that 
she really did say "yes," for bow was she 
to even guess that his bank was simply 
sand? 

He was but a fortune-seeker, and his 
love grew weak and weaker as the days 
grew bleak and bleaker on the matri- 
monial sea. 

For his stocks soon needed water; for 
her fortune he had sought her; but to 
find that he had bought her — she was 
sold and so was he. 



OF ALL THE GOOD THINGS. 

Of all the good things in this good world 

around us, 
The one most abundantly furnished and 

found us, 
And which, for that reason, we least care 

about, 
And can best spare our friends, is good 

counsel, no doubt. 




THE REFUSAL. 

No, no, my sweet, my tempting Eve, 
I cannot, dare not be your Adam, 

To other lovers let me leave 

The apple, if you please, dear madam. 



LOVE'S QUANDARY. 

I move in an orbit of maidens, 

A fair little circlet of wiles, 
And each is distinct from the others, 

Yet all are alike in their smiles. 

They are beautiful, too, and endearing, 
And one is a model of grace, 

And one is a statue of patience, 
And one is a dancer to praise; 

And one is a fairy of fashion, 
And one is a bonny, wee pet, 

And one is a syren of singing, 
And one is a laughing brunette. 

And I've puzzled me long to determine 
Which of all is most fit for a wife; 

But the labor is out of my station, 
I cannot divine for my life. 

Alas, for the fortune that's human, 
Each one seems to hold me at call; 

Oh, I wish that I were a Mormon, 
For then I might marry them all. 



WOULD YOU? 

Would you win a lovely creature 
Softly, gently, kindly treat her. 



REMEMBER. 



Remember all the vows between us past, 
When I, from all I value, parted last. 
May you alike with kind impatience burn, 
And something miss till I with joy return. 



WILL YOU NOT? 

Will you not for her you love, do more 
Than any one you ever saw before? 




M 



v* 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DIVORCED. 

My hands stretch forth to meet thee as 

before; 
But all in vain, for I am thine no more. 



GOOD BYE! GOOD BYE! 

No! Let me alone — 't is better so, 

My way and yours are widely far apart. 
Why should you stop to grieve above my 
woe? 
And why should not I step across your 
heart ? 
A man's heart is a poor thing at best, 
And your 's is no whit better than the 
rest. 

I loved you once! ah, yes! perhaps I did, 
Women are curious things, you know, 
and strange, 
And hard to understand; and then, be- 
sides, 
The key of her soul's music oft doth 
change. 
And so — ah, do not look at me that way ! 
I loved you once, but that was yesterday. 

Sometimes a careless word doth rankle 
deep — 
So deep that it can change a heart like 
this, 

And blot out all the long sweet, throb- 
bing hours 
That went before; crowned gold with 
rapturous bliss; 

So deep that it can blot out hours divine, 

And make a heart as hard and cold as 
mine. 

Nay, do not speak. I never can forget; 
So let us say, " Good bye," and go our 

ways. 
Mayhap the pansies will start from the 

dust 
Of our past days — the slumbrous, 

happy days 
When I was trusting, and life knew no 

grief, 
But blossomed with my clinging, sweet 

belief. 



Good bye! good bye! Part of my life 

you take — 
Its fairest part. Nay, do not touch my 

lips. 
Once they were yours: but now, oh, my 

lost love, 
I would not have you touch my finger 

tips. 
And saying this, I feel no chill of pain; 
I can not even weep in cold disdain. 

If God cares aught for women who have 

loved 
And worshipped idols false, I trust He 

will 
Keep us so far apart that never more 
Our paths may cross. Why: are you 

standing still? 
Good bye, I say. This is the day's dim 

close ; 
Your love is no more worth than last 

year's rose. 



AND I ASK FOR NOTHING MORE. 

In a valley fair I wandered, 

O'er its meadow pathway green, 
Where a singing brook was flowing 

Like the spirit of the scene; 
And I saw a lovely maiden 

With a basket brimming o'er 
With sweet buds, and so I asked her 

For a flower, and nothing more. 

Then I chatted on beside her, 

And I praised her hair and eyes, 
And like roses from her basket 

On her cheeks saw blushes rsse. 
With her timid looks down glancing, 

She said, would I pass before — 
Then I said that all 1 wanted 

Was a smile, and nothing more. 

And she shyly smiled upon me, 

And I still kept wandering on; 
What with blushing, smiling, chatting, 

Soon a brief half hour was gone. 
Then she told me I must leave her, 

For she saw their cottage door, 
But I would not, till I rifled 

Just one kiss, and nothing more 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




And I often met this maiden 

At the twilight's loving hour, 
With the summer's offspring laden, 

But herself the self-same flower. 
When she asked me what I wished for, 

Grown far bolder than before, 
With impassioned words I answered, 

'Twas her heart, and nothing more. 

Thus for weeks and months I wooed her, 

And the joys that then had birth, 
Made an atmosphere of gladness 

Seem encircling all the earth. 
One bright morning at the altar, 

A white bridal dress she wore; 
Then my wife I proudly made her, 

And I asked for nothing more. 



MAY BE. 



When a pair of red lips are upturned to 
your own, 
With no one to gossip about it, 
Do you pray for endurance to let them 
alone? 
Well may be you do — but I doubt it. 

When a sly little hand you 're permitted 
to seize, 
With a velvety softness about it, 
Do you think you can drop it with never 
a squeeze? 
Well, may be you can — but I doubt it. 

When a tapering waist is in reach of your 

arm, 

With a wonderful plumpness about it, 

Do you argue the point 'twixt the good 

and the harm? 

Well, may be you do — but I doubt it. 

And if by these tricks you should capture 
a heart, 
With a womanly sweetness about it, 
Will you guard it, and keep it, and act 
the good part? 
Well, may be you will — but I doubt it. 



BEAUTY AND THE MOON. 

It was to bless the hours of shade, 
That beauty and the moon were made. 




WE CAN CRY QUITS AND BE GOOD 
FRIENDS. 

Indeed, they have not grieved me sore, 
Your faithlessness and your deceit, 

The truth is I was troubled more 
How I should make a good retreat; 

Another way my heart now tends, 

We can cry quits and be good friends. 

I found you far more lovable, 
Because your fickleness I saw, 

For I myself am changeable, 

And like, you know, to like doth draw; 

Thus neither needs to make amends, 

We can cry quits and be good friends. 

While I was monarch of your heart, 
My thoughts from you did never range, 

But from my vassal did I part, 

When you your former love did change; 

No penalty the change attends, 

We can cry quits and be good friends. 

Farewell! we'll meet again some day, 
And all our fortunes we '11 relate; 

Of love let's have no more to say, 

'Tis clear we 're not each other's fate; 

Our game in pleasant fashion ends; 

We can cry quits and be good friends. 



AWAITING BY THE BARS. 

When the slow sinking sun 

Disappears o'er the mountain, 
And the twilight steals down, 

With its few twinkling stars, 
I spring from my haunt 

By the old rustic fountain 
To meet little Susie, 

Who waits at the bars. 

So lightly I leap o'er 

The dew-dampened grasses, 
As away to the trysting 

I joyously bound; 
I scarce heed the distance, 

So quickly it passes, 
And plunge down the hillside 

Where she 's to be found. 




^Qii 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



17 



O 



WHEN WOMEN BEGIN. 

When women begin to feel youth and 

their beauty 
Slip from them, they count it a sort of a 

duty 
To let nothing else slip away unsecured 
Which these, while they lasted, might 

once have procured. 



BESIDE THE STILE. 

We both walked slowly o'er the yellow 
grass 
Beneath the sunset sky, 
And then he climbed the stile I did not 
pass, 
And there we said " good-bye." 

He paused one moment, I leaned on the 
stile, 

And faced the hazy lane; 
But neither of us spoke until we both 

Just said " good-bye " again. 

And I went homeward to our quaint old 
farm, 

And he went on his way; 
And he has never crossed that field again, 

From that time to this day. 

I wonder if he ever gives a thought 

To what he left behind; 
As I start sometimes, dreaming that I 
hear 

A footstep in the wind. 

If he had said but one regretful word, 

Or I had shed a tear, 
He would not go alone about the world, 

Nor I sit lonely here. 

Alas ! our hearts were full of angry pride, 
And love was choked in strife; 

And so the stile beyond the yellow grass 
Stands straight across our life. 



WILLIAM. 



William alone my feeble voice can raise, 

What voice so weak that cannot sing 

his praise? 
2 

W 



KISSING. 

Men scorn to kiss among themselves, 
And scarce would kiss a brother; 

But women want to kiss so bad, 
They kiss, and kiss each other. 

Men do not kiss among themselves, 
And it is well that they refrain; 

The bitter dose would vex them so, 
That they would never kiss again. 



TOGETHER. YOU AND I. 

The winter wind is wailing, sad and low, 
Across the lake and through the rust- 
ling sedge; 
The splendor of the golden after-glow 
Gleams through the blackness of the 
great yew hedge; 
And this I read on earth and in the sky — 
" We ought to be together, you and I." 

My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear, 
My ear is tired listening for your call; 
I want your strength to help, your laugh 
to cheer, 
Heart, soul and sense need you, one and 
all; 
I droop without your full frank sym- 
pathy — 
" We ought to be together, you and I." 

We want each other so, to comprehend 
The dream, the hope, the things 
planned, seen, or wrought; 
Companion, comforter, and guide and 
friend, 
As much as love asks love, does thought 
need thought. 
Life is so short, so fast the hours fly — 
" We ought to be together, you and I." 



CAN I AGAIN? 

Can I again that look recall, 

That once could make me die for thee; 
No, no! — the eye that beams on all, 

Shall never more be priz'd by me! 



18 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(P* 



I 



SV 



CONCEAL YOURSELF. 

Conceal yourself, as well 's you can, 

From critical dissection; 
But look through every other man 

With piercing, sly inspection. 



COQUETTE. 



Would you teach her to love? for a time 
seem to rove, 
At first she may frown in a pet; 
But leave her awhile, she shortly will 
smile, 
And then you may win your coquette. 



FAREWELL. 



Farewell — thou hast trampled love's 

faith in the dust, 
Thou hast torn from my bosom its hopes 

and its trust; 
Yet if thy life's current with bliss it 

would swell, 
I would pour out my own in this last 

fond farewell. 



HOME. 



My son — thou wilt dream the world is 
fair, 
And thy spirit will sigh to roam; 
And thou must go; — but never, when 
there, 
Forget the light of home. 



MY MOTHER. 

And while my soul retains the power 
To think upon each faded year, 

In every bright or shadow'd hour, 
My heart shall hold my mother dear. 

The hills may tower, the waves may rise, 

And roll between my home and me; 
Yet shall my quenchless memories 
/-, Turn with undying love to thee. 



WEALTH. 

Burns, o'er the plough sung sweet his 

wood-notes wild, 
And richest Shakspear was a poor man's 

child. 



FLATTERY. 



'Tis an old maxim in the schools, 
That flattery's the food of fools; 
Yet now and then the men of wit 
Will condescend to take a bit. 



THEY. 



Love, for a while, will make the path be- 
fore them 

All dainty, smooth and fair; 
Will cull away the brambles, letting only 

The roses blossom there. 



NATURE. 



It makes no difference how much a 
duck associates with chickens, nor no 
matter how far it may have been hatched 
from water, for as soon as it finds a pud- 
dle she 's soino- into it. 



HOW I LOOK AT IT. 

The insects sometimes have more sense 
than men. When you see a man fooling 
around a hornet's nest you may know 
that the person, instead of the hornet, is 
making the greater mistake. 



THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER 
FACE. 

There is a garden in her face, 

Where roses and white lilies blow; 

A heav'nly paradise that place. 
Where all rarest fruits do grow; 

There cherries grow that none may buy, 

Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. 







A HOOK OF POEMS 




A YARN OF A SKEIN. 


THE PARTING. 


I held n skein of vain for Ruth, 


Since we are doomed thus terribly to part, 


She was as pretty a maid, in truth, 


No other maid shall ever share my heart. 


As any you shall see. 




I did not hold it to her liking, 




She said, my clumsy ringers striking, 


BY THE RIVER. 


I did it awkwardly. 







A little " oh ! " and a little " ah ! " 


Well, then, I try to mend my ways; 


And then a little bit of a shiver, 


In vain, the witching damsel says, 


As he caught her close in a warm em- 


" It 's in a fearful tangle. " 


brace 


She puts her white hand close to mine 


And kissed sweet lips and a blushing 
face 


And tries the tangle to untwine: 


It catches in her bangle. 


That August night by the river. 


I drop the yarn, — yea, let it travel 


A little rising of half-closed lids, 


Where'er it will, untwist or ravel, — 


Bright eyes unveiled, then a warm, white 


I wash my hands of it. 


shoulder, 


And gently take her dainty wrist, 


Came peeping out from its nest of lace, 


Feigning the tangles to untwist, 


And her arms gave back the warm em- 


The first she knows her hand is kissed, — 


brace, 


She does not care a whit. 


And the darkness made her bolder. 


She blushes just a little, though, 


A little rustle among the trees — 


(Pale rose leaves, wind kissed, act just so) 


A sound as some one the twigs were 


And, as she meets my eye, 


spurning, 


She murmurs, the entrancing maid, 


Was borne along on the evening 


With double meaning, I 'm afraid, 


breeze — 


"You do this splendidly." 


Then a decided masculine sneeze, 




And the scent of tobacco burning. 


HEARTLESS AND COLD. 


And the little "ohs," and the little 
"ahs," 
Were prudently hushed; and the little 


That the dew of your youth is rubbed off 


you: I see 


shiver 


You have no feeling left in you, even for 


Suppressed by the knowledge that fond 


me! 


papas 


At honor you jest; you are cold as a stone 


Will sometimes walk with their mild 


To the warm voice of friendship. Belief, 


cigars 


you have none. 


On August nights by the river. 


You have lost faith in all things. You 




carry a blight 




About with you everywhere. Yes, at the 


WHO CAN SAY. 


sigh t 





Of such callous indifference, who could 


Who can sit down and say: " What I will 


be calm? 


be, I will?" 


I must leave you at once, Kate, or else 


Who stand up and affirm: "What I was 


the last balm 


I am still?" 


That is left me in Gilead you '11 turn into 


Who is it that must not, if questioned, 


gall. 


say: "What 


Heartless, cold, unconcerned, I have done. 


I would have remained, or become, I am 


That is all. 


not." 







A BOOK OF POEMS 






* LUCILLE DeNEVERS. 

One meets women whose beauty is equal 

to hers, 
But none with the charms of Lucille De- 

Nevers. 



DIFFERENCE OF OPINIONS. 

Her Respectable Papa's. 

" My dear, be sensible ! Upon my word, 
This — for a woman, even — is absurd, 
His income 's not above a thousand, I 

know. 
He 's not worth loving " — " But I love 
him so." 

Her Mother's. 

-' You silly child, he is well made and tall: 
But looks are far from being all in all. 
His social standing 's low, his family 's 

low. 
He 's not worth loving "■ — "And I love 

him so." 

Her Eternal Friend's. 

" Is that he picking up the fallen fan ? 
My dear! he's such an awkward, ugly 

man! 
You must be certain, pet, to answer ' No.' 
He 'snot worth loving" — "And I love 

him so." 

Her Brother's. 

"Byjove! were I a girl — through hor- 
rid hap — 
I would n't have a milk-and-water chap. 
The man has not a single spark of ' go.' 
He's uot worth loving" — "Yet I love 
him so." 

Her Own Opinion. 

And were he everything to which I 've 

listened; 
Though he were ugly, awkward (but he 

isn't), 
Poor, lowly-born and destitute of skill, 
He is worth loving, and I love him still. 



DARE I TRUST THEE? 

Dare I trust thee, winsome maiden? 
There thou standest, beauty laden, 

And my heart goes out to thee. 
Lift thine eyes of starry splendor, 
Mocking, coy, yet sometimes tender — 

Lift them, dear, and look at me ! 

Dare I trust them? They have captured 
Fast my heart, that beats enraptured 

'Neath their sweet, bewitching spell. 
Radiant eyes, but half revealing, 
Then with drooping lids concealing 

What I long for them to tell! 

As I watch the rose she presses 
To her lips for sweet caresses, 

How I envy it its bliss! 
Dare I ask those lips to utter 
One sweet word, and softly flutter 

In a pure betrothal kiss? 

Joy, heart! The dear lips fashion 
Words of loving, shy compassion ; 

All my doubting now is o'er. 
Heart to heart, dear love, we '11 ever 
Travel o'er life's path together, 

And I '11 trust thee evermore ! 



THE MITTEN. 

This evening, alas! I must go to the ball, 
And will not be at home till too late for 
your call. 



I 'D SAY BRIEFLY. 

I'd say briefly: the woman who loves 
should, indeed, 

Be the friend of the man that she loves. 
She should heed 

Not her selfish and often mistaken de- 
sires, 

But his interest whose fate his own in- 
terest inspires; 

And, rather than seek to allure, for her 
sake, 

His life down the turbulent fanciful 
wake 

Of impossible destinies, use all her art 

That his place in the world find its place 
in her heart. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO LEONORA. 

That thou wert beautiful, audi not blind, 
Hath been the sin that shuts me from 

mankind; 
But let them go, or torture as they will, 
My heart can multiply thine image still; 
I was indeed delirious in my heart 
To lift my love as lofty as thou art. 



MARIE. 



Not the blossoms of spring such attrac- 
tions disclose, 
As beam, lovely nymph! in thy coun- 
tenance fair; 
Tho' sweet is the blush that empurples 
the rose, 
With thee, not the rose can for beauty 
compare. 

Forbid it, ye pow'rs that preside o'er the 
fair, 
Forbid it, kind Heaven, that a face so 
divine 
Should e'er be obscur'd by the gloom of 
despair, 
Or misfortune e'er teach such a breast 
to repine. 



I WANT TO GO WHERE. 

Where fresh strawberries are sold under 

all the house eaves, 
And young ladies are on sale for the 

strawberry leaves. 



IT ALL DEPENDS. 

Have you forgot the garden where we 
met? 
It all depends! you know it all depends! 
We were alone 'midst roses dewy wet, 
The best of friends — the dearest 
friends ! 
The sun had set — too soon her weary 
way 
Down the dark lane a maiden wends; 
Will she return there where 'I wait some 
day? 
all depends! It all depends! 




How soft the night ! can you recall the 
hour? 
It all depends! hush, dear, it all de- 
pends! 
Across the window in the ruined tower 

A jasmine bends — so fondly bends. 
Hark to her voice! dim silence to despair 

Deep music lends — so sweetly lends. 
What shall I see? — her face, her hand, 
her hair? 
It all depends! It all depends! 

How will it end? in sorrow or in pain? 

It all depends, sweetheart, it all de- 
pends! 
We may be parted, we may meet again. 

It all depends! It all depends! 
Life such as ours may be so false or true, 

So fondly false — it all depends! 
Tell me once more! I can be true, can 
you? 

It all depends ! It all depends! 

And if you say you can, then I can rest; 

It all depends! It all depends! 
Then in my mind I '11 be no more dis- 
tress'd, 
It all depends! you know it all depends 
On you to make my life one sweet repose 
Or one of sighs — dear one, it all de- 
pends! 
Tell me that you'll be true till life shall 
close, 
And we will always be the best of 
friends ! 



VICTOR AND ADELAIDE. 

Victor had sworn to Adelaide, 

And pledged a faith no change could 
sever; 
And proud DeCourci's dark-eyed maid 

Vow'd to be true, — and true forever! 



FORGETFULNESS. 

I have been patient, let me be so yet; 
I have forgotten half I would forget, 
But it revives — oh! would it were my lot 
To be foi'getful as I am forgot! 







22 



A BOOK OP POEMS 






DORIS AND DANDY. 

Hark to the voice ringing out from the 
woodland, 
Mocking the birds with their silvery 
song, 
Under green bushes and over green 
mosses, 
See! it is Doris comes tripping along. 

Pink is her petticoat, blue is her bodice, 
Brown the bright curls of her short 
silken hair; 
As dimple and dainty a maiden as ever 
A youth, be he country or city, called 
fair. 

Her hat, wreathed with roses and ribbons, 
is swaying 
In time to the tune of her fingers so 
small; 
But she suddenly stops, and the sweet 
carol ceases 
And ripples a laugh that is sweetest of 
all. 

For under the shade of a great tree is 
standing 
A form that she knows — who could 
ever forget 
That six feet of slenderness, eye-glasses, 
mustache 
Exquisitely small, and those tresses of 
jet 

So evenly parted, so lowly descending 
In a soft silken fringe o'er his delicate 
brow; 
'"Tis Sir Dandy, the city exquisite, none 
other — 
Come up to his villa-on-Hudson, you 
know." 

"Ah! whom have we here? a sylph of 
the woodland 
Or Diana the huntress, so fair and so 
bright; 
Have you danced with the fairies or sung 
with the wood lark 
That 's up in the morn at the dawning 
of light?" 




He touches her hand with its little white 
fingers, 
Her eyes are cast down, there's a blush 
on her face: 
"Sweet Doris! do give me that long- 
wished for answer," 
She shakes her short ringlets and steps 
back a pace. 

"Sir Dandy, don't ask me such queer silly 
questions; 
You know I can 't answer — that is, not 
to-day, 
You wait for Diana, who hunts in the 
forest; 
I live in the cottage just over the way." 

She kisses her hand to him over her 
shoulder, 
And is gone like a sunbeam ere he can 
detain; 
He stares for a minute, then hunts for 
his eye-glass, 
Which has somehow entangled itself 
with his chain. 
So many weeks to a summer flirtation. 
So many minutes to get to the train. 



DISCREETNESS. 

It always has been thought discreet, 
To know the company you meet; 
And if yon would avoid great danger, 
Don't talk too much before a stranger. 



PRESUMPTION. 

Presumptuous thus to love without de- 
sign, 
That sad fatality has cost me dear; 
But thou art dearest still, and I should 
be 
Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but 
for thee. 

The very love which locked me to my 
chain 
Hath lightened half its weight; and 
for the rest, 
Though heavy, lent me vigor to sustain, 
And look to thee with undivided breast. 







A 15 OK OF POEMS 



23 



6 



THE QUESTION TO SCYLLA. 

What nymph should I ad mire or trust, 
But Scylla, beauteous Scylla just? 
What nymph should I desire to see, 
But her who leaves the plain for me? 
To whom should I compose the lav. 
But her who listens wheu I play? 
To whom in song repeat my cares, 
But her who in my sorrow shares? 
For whom should I the garland make, 
But her who joys the gift to take, 
And boasts she wears it for my sake? 

Scylla's Reply. 

Sure Scylla's just, and Scylla's fair, 
Deserves to be your only care; 
But, when you and she to-day 
Far into the wood did stray, 
And I happened to pass by,. 
Which way did you cast your eye ? 
But, when your cares to her you sing, 
Yet dare not tell her whence they spring; 
Does it not more afflict your heart, 
That in those cares she bears a part? 
When you the flowers for Scylla twine 
Why do you to her garland join 
The meauest bud that falls from mine? 
Simplest of swains, the world may see, 
Whom Scylla loves, and who loves me. 



COLONEL ROBERT G. INGERSOLL'S 

ADDRESS AT THE GRAVE 

OF THE LITTLE CHILD 

OF A FRIEND. 

WHENCE AND WHITHER. 

"My Friends: I know how vain it is 
to gild a grief with words, and yet I wish 
to take from every grave its fear. Here 
in this w r orld, where life and death are 
equal kings, all should be brave enough 
to meet what all the dead have met. The 
future has been filled with fear, stained 
and polluted by the heartless past. From 
the wondrous tree of life the buds and 
blossoms fall with ripened fruit, and in 
the common bed of earth the patriarchs 
and babes sleep side by side. Why should 
we fear that which will come to all that 
We can not tell, we do not know, 




which is the greater blessing — life or 
death. We can not say that death is not 
a good. We do not know whether the 
grave is the end of this life or the door 
of another; or whether the night here is 
not somewhere else a dawn. Neither can 
-we tell which is the more fortunate — the 
child dying in its mother's arms, before 
its lips have learned to form a word, or 
he who journeys all the length of life's 
uneven road, painfully taking the last 
slow steps with staff and crutch. 

"Every cradle asks us 'Whence?' and 
eveiy coffin 'Whither?' The poor bar- 
barian, weeping above his dead, can 
answer these questions as intelligently 
and satisfactorily as the robed priest of 
the most authentic creed. The tearful 
ignorance of the one is just as consoling 
as the learned, unmeaning words of the 
other. No man, standing where the 
horizon of a life has touched a grave, has 
any right to prophesy a future filled with 
pain and tears. It may be that death 
gives all there is of worth to life. If 
those we press and strain against our 
hearts could never die, perhaps that love 
would wither from the earth. May be 
this common fate treads from out the 
paths between our hearts the weeds of 
selfishness and hate, and I had rather live 
and love where death is king, than have 
eternal life where love is not. Another 
life is naught unless we know and love 
again the ones who love us here. They 
who stand with breaking hearts around 
this little grave need have no fear. The 
larger and the nobler faith in all that is 
and is to be, tells us that death, even at 
its worst, is only perfect rest. We know 
that through the common wants of life 
— the needs and duties of each hour — 
their grief will lessen day by day, until 
at last this grave will be to them a place 
of rest and peace — almost of joy. There 
is for them this consolation: The dead do 
not suffer. If they live again, their lives 
will surely be as good as ours. We have 
no fear. We are all children of the same 
mother, and the same fate awaits us all, 
We. too, have our religion, and it is this: 
Help for the living — Hope for the dead.' 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



'cPm 



AN OLD STORY. 

When spring was beginning, and May 

day was nigh, 
On a country girl spinning, the king cast 

his eye; 
Fair flourish the roses anear the court 

wall, 
But the rose of the hedges is fairest of 

all. 
" Let me hide my fool's face 'neath a ly- 
ing tombstone, 
For the world 's gone a-Maying, I mope 

here alone, 1 ' 
Said the jester, who sat on the steps of 

the throne. 

But the blossoms will fade which the 

thoughtless have torn, 
And the cheeks of a maid will grow with- 

ei'ed and worn. 
Why should there for such a small mat- 
ter be woe ?< 
Since each hedge and each village such 

roses will show? 
" King! go to your wine; pretty maiden, 

go moan," 
Said the jester, who sat on the steps of 

the throne; 
" When the meat hath been mumbled we 

leave the picked bone." 

Yet a peasant is grinding a knife sharp 

and strong, 
And silently winding his way through 

the throng — 
Then the dogs must be driven from lick- 
ing the gore 
Of a monarch struck down at his own 

palace door. 
" Though her name be a gibe, and her 

altars o'erthrown, 
In the end gossip justice will seize on her 

own," 
Said the jester who sat on the steps of 

the throne: 



RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

The Christian Union says: "This is 
the whole of righteousness, to be unself- 
ish, to obey reason and Nature, and to 
5\ love beauty." 



I SPEAK NOT OF LOVE, JENNIE. 

I speak not of love now, nor love's long 

regret : 
I would not offend you, nor dare I forget 
The ties that are round me. But may 

there not be 
A friendship yet hallowed between you 

and me? 



BETWEEN OURSELVES. 

Because her eyes to me and you 

The brightest are, the bluest, 
Shall storms arise between us two, 

The oldest friends and truest? 
She smiles on me, my heart is light, 

And yours is steeped in sorrow, 
And yet the flower I gave to-night 

She '11 throw to you to-morrow. 
Coquette is she, so say with me, 

"Let him who wins her wear her; " 
And fair — however fair she be, 

There 's many a lassie fairer. 

But if it hap, aud well it may, 

That each, in vain, has pleaded; 
If all my songs are thrown away 

And all your sighs unheeded; 
We '11 vow ourselves no hermit's vows, 

We '11 cross no foaming billow, 
We'll bind about our dismal brows 

No wreaths of mournful willow. 
But show, in spite of her disdain, 

We yet can live without her, 
And joining hands we '11 laugh again, 

And think no more about her! 



IMMORTALITY. 

What shall I do to gain eternal life? 

Discharge aright 
The simple dues with which day is rife, 

Yea, with thy might, 
Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise 

Will life be fled: 
While he who ever acts as conscience 



cries, 



Shall live, though dead. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



25 



FAREWELL ! — BUT WHENEVER 
YOU WELCOME THE HOUR. 

Farewell! — but whenever you welcome 
the hour, 

That awakeus the night-song of love in 
your bower, 

Then think of tbe friend who once wel- 
comed it, too, 

And forgot his own griefs to be happy 
with you. 

His griefs may return — not a hope may 
remain 

Of the few that have brighten'd his path- 
way of pain — 

But he ne'er will forget the short vision 
that threw 

Its enchantment around him while ling- 
'ring with you! 

And still on that evening, when pleasure 

fills up 
To the highest top sparkle each heart 

and each cup, 
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or 

bright, 
My soul, happy friend, shall be with you 

that night; 
Shall join in your revels, your sports and 

your wiles, 
And return to me beaming all o'er with 

your smiles! — 
Too blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay 

cheer, 
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish 

he were here!" 

Let fate do her worst, there are relics of 

joy* 

Bright dreams of the past, which she can 

not destroy; 
Which come in the night-time of sorrow 

and care, 
And bring back the features that joy us'd 

to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such mem- 
ories fill'd! 
Like the vase in which roses have once 

been distill'd — 
You may break, you may shatter the 

vase, if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang 

round it still. 




SLANDER. 

They slander thee sorely, who say thy 

vows are frail; 
Hadst thou been a false one, thy cheek 

had look'd less pale. 



WILL YOU LOVE ME THEN? 

Will you love me when deep sorrow 
Closes round this heart of mine — 

When my dreams of fame are over 
And I go into decline — 

Will you love me then? 

Will you love me when the money 
All is spent and swept away — 

When the bills remain unsettled 
And the grocer wants his pay — 
Will you love me then? 

Will you love me when I'm wrinkled, 
Bent and bald, and cross and old — 

When I sit all day and grumble, 

Mutter, growl, find fault and scold — 
Will you love me then? 

Will you love me when gi-eat troubles 
Come upon me thick and fast — 

When the days of peace and plenty 
Have skedaddled and are past — 
Will you love me then? 

Will you love me when deserted 
By the friends of former years? 

Will you stand and with a kerchief 
Wipe away the falling tears — 
Will you love me then? 

Will you love me when I'm peevish — 
When I have no teeth above — 

When my sands of life are sliding 
Will you call me your old dove — 
Will you love me then? 

If you will, then, you 're a daisy, 
You're a jewel, you 're a queen; 

And I'll take you — yes, instanter — 
And our life shall be serene, 
If you '11 love me then. 





20 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE TO THEE. 

So love, however time may flow, 

Fresh hours pursuing those that flee, 

One constant image still shall show 
My tide of life is true to thee. 



FAREWELL FOREVER, A— A M— Y. 

I long have had a mind to let you go, 
So now forever we will part, although 
That when I found the time was draw- 
ing near, 
I paused reluctant, finding you so dear. 

You was my captive, and I was your slave, 
My prisoner, yet obedience I gave, 
To all your often wishes and demands, 
No gift you ask'd but gave with willing 
hands. 

And when from you I ask'd a single kiss, 
Refused, you say, no making love like this. 
Resolved, from you, for all time hence to 

sever, 
Unkind A — a M — y, fare you well forever. 



FILIAL SORROW. 

Teach me to mourn, Urania! sacred maid, 
A dear lov'd mother's death in solemn 
strains; 

So will I sigh a requiem to her shade, — 
So will I show affection still remains. 

Her spirit, fitted with the blest to live, 
By angels borne to realms of endless 

joy; 

Tastes of the pleasures death alone can 
give, 
Pure from the fount of bliss without 
alloy. 

I come to kiss — to weep on this thy 
grave- 
To mourn the loss — the loss which 
all deplore; 
My sorrows thus thy sepulcher shall lave, 
For I shall see thee — love thee here 
no more! 




Then, should I weep as one of hope de- 
prived ? 
As if we never were to meet again? 
Forbid it, Heaven, for when from dust 
reviv'd, 
We shall unite, nor feel a parting 
pain. 

Farewell! oh be my parting tribute paid 
Of duteous tears, my mother! o'er thy 
tomb: 
Oh, let them soothe thy conscious gen- 
tle shade, 
While gathers now around me even- 
ing's gloom. 

Fit hour for converse with the sacred 
dead, 
When solemn stillness reigns thro' all 
the air; 
When weeping dews on Nature's breast 
are shed, 
And alter'd objects seem not what they 
are. 

What, tho' no urn, no animated bust 
Yet bear the traces of thy honour'd 
name; — 
What tho' mute stones alone enshrine 
thy dust, 
Which ne'er thy worth distinguish'd 
must proclaim; 

What tho' no sculptur'd tribute yet ap- 
pear — 
No monumental marble meet the eye; 
Mine is a better offering — duty's tear — 
Mine, what thou prizest more — affec- 
tion's sigh. 



SO BRIEF OUR EXISTENCE. 

So brief our existence, a glimpse at the 
most, 
Is all we can have of the few we hold 
dear; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 
For want of some heart that could 
echo it near. 




■b 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




COLD IN THE EARTH. 

Yet cold in the earth at thy feet, I would 

rather he, 
Thau wed whom I love not, or turn one 

thought from thee. 



MY LIZZIE. 



Let others from the town retire, 
And in the fields seek new delight; 

My Lizzie does such joys inspire, 
No other objects please my sight. 

In her alone I find whate'er 

Beauties a country landscape grace; 
No shade so lovely as her hair, 

Nor plain so sweet as in her face. 

Lilies and roses there combine, 

More beauteous than in flowery field; 

Transparent is her skin so fine, 

To this each crystal stream must yield. 

Her voice more sweet than warbling 
sound, 

Though sung by nightingale or lark; 
Her eyes such luster dart around, 

Compared to them the sun is dark. 

Both light and vital heat they give, 
Cherished by them my love takes root; 

From her kind looks does life receive, 
Grows a fair plant, bears flowei's ?tnd 

fruit. 

Such fruit, I weeu, did once deceive 
The common parent of mankind, 

And made transgress our mother Eve, — 
Poison its core, though fair its rind. 

Yet so delicious is its taste, 

I cannot from the bait abstain: 

But to th 1 enchanting pleasure haste, 
Though I were sure 't would end in 
pain. 



WE PART. 



Life's feverish dreams are almost o'er, 
We part, dear friend, to meet no more. 

3/ 



OX THE BEACH. 

1 am feeling rather nettled, 
For I thought it was all settled, 
And that happiness was quite within my 
reach, 
As I sat with Arabella, 
Oh, such a happy fellah, 
Under her umbrella, 

On the beach. 

As I said, I'm feeling nettled, 
For I fear it is n't settled, 
And I 'm longing now to tear my hair and 
screech, 
For there sits my Arabella, 
And she 's got some other fellah, 
Under her umbrella, 
Out of reach. 



I HAD A SAILOR UNCLE. 

I had a sailor uncle once 
Who loved the briny breeze, 

And, though at school almost a dunce, 
He flourished on the c-c-c. 

He joined the loyal navy, when 

The squadron took a prize, 
And fighting iu the Terrapin, 

A fuse put out his i-i-i. 

But surgeon's skill and doctor's stuff 
Worked wonders for his views; 

And now his sight is good enough 
For any man to u-u-u. 

Ungrateful nations soon forget 
Their friends as well as foes, 

But he's in hopes the world may yet 
Grant the reward it 0-0-0. 

And now retired, secure from harm, 
He keeps his hive of b-b-b, 

And happy on his little farm, 
Contented takes his e-e-e. 



NO POWER. 



No power in death can tear our names 

apart , 
As none in life could rend thee from my 

heart. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



^ 



ON AGYPT'S BANKS. 

On Agypt's banks contagious to the 

Noile 
King Pharaoh's daughter wint to bathe the 

whoile; 
Espying an infant among the rushes 

woild, 
She asked her maidens: "Which o' yees 

owns the choild?" 



THE RULING PASSION. 

Fair Circe had triumphed o'er many a sot, 
When she spread out her toil for Ulysses 
the wise; 
But the son of Laertes was not to be 
caught, 
For her tongue was less eloquent far 
than her eyes. 

In vain she displayed all the charms of a 
breast 
That panted for pleasure, and rivall'd 
with snow; 
While the beauties that peeped through 
her gossamer vest, 
Proclaimed that the queen was no mon- 
ster below. 

This ravishing object almost in his reach, 
The heart of the hero was going astray, 
When the lady thought proper to make 
him a speech, — 
Some ladies will talk tho' they Ve noth- 
ing to say. 

And he yawn'd and he cried, "She'd an- 
noy me to death, 
A man is not always in humor to kiss, 
And yet I with kisses must stop up her 
breath, 
To hinder the simpleton's talking 
amiss." 

Thus boasted the chief as he steered 
through the tide, 
And thought his fidelity safe within 
dock; 
But as he the flesh and the devil defied, 
siren appeared on the opposite rock. 




She neither the youth nor the beauty 
possess'd, 
That tempted to Circe's Voluptuous 
embrace, 
Yet a meaning, a soul in her look was 
express'd, 
That could give to a wrinkle the charm 
of a grace. 

Her age might be thirty, perhaps thirty- 
five; 
As over the lyre she with elegance 
hung, 
At the touch of her finger the chords 
were alive, 
And the honey of eloquence flowed 
from her tongue. 

She invited the chief to the banquet of 
wit, 
Where the muses and graces adorn the 
repast; 
And offered to show him whatever was 
writ 
On the tablets of fate, from the first to 
the last. 



WE ARE NOT OLD. 

We are not old, though years have rolled 
Like shadows from our path away, 

Since first to me thou didst unfold 
Thy love — oh, happy, happy, day! 
We are not old! 

Thy cheeks are fairer than the rose, 
Thy lips are sweeter than the dew, 

Thy hand is whiter than the snows, 
And as the heavens thine eyes are blue; 
We are not old! 

Time dealeth gently with us here, 

No change our hearts have ever known; 

Our joy increases year by year, 

For sweet contentment is our own : 
We are not old ! 

As in the past may we glide on, 
Yet gently down the stream of life; 

And when we reach our journey's end, 
May we together rest — my wife : 
We are not old! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




FORGIVENESS. 

There were low murmured words of for- 
giveness; 
Foud clasping of hands and a kiss. 
The past! ah! the past is forgotten. 
What could mar such a moment as 
this? 



SYLVIA. 



Now seek not, Sylvia! dare not seek 

An interview with me; 
Indignant shame would flush my cheek 

If I should look on thee! 



THE MAIDEN. 

On nothing fairer upon the earth, 
The sun or the moon looks down; 

She 's as fresh and sweet as the morning 
breeze, 
The maid in the muslin gown. 



TENDERNESS. 

Not unto every heart is God's good gift 
Of simple tenderness allowed; we meet 

With love in many fashions when we lift 
First to our lips life's water's bitter 
sweet. 

Love comes upon us with resistless power 
Of curbless passion, and with head- 
strong will; 
It plays around like April's breeze and 
shower, 
Or calmly flows a rapid stream and still. 

It comes with blessedness unto the heart 

That welcomes it aright, or bitter fate! 

It wrings the bosom with so fierce a 

smart, 

That love, we cry, is crueller than hate. 

And then, ah, me! when love has ceased 

to bless, 
Our broken hearts cry out for tenderness. 



FRIENDS.— AMY. 

There are no friends so dear to me, 
As those who tell me most of thee. 

if.. 



SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? 

FROM THE PEN OP GEORGE D. PRENTISS. 

" The fiat of death is inexorable. No 
appeal for relief from the great law which 
dooms us to dust. We flourish and fade 
as the leaves of the forest, and the flowers 
that bloom, wither and fade in a day have 
no frailer hold upon life than the might- 
iest monarch that ever shook the earth 
with his footsteps. Generations of men 
will appear and disappear as the grass, 
and the multitude that throngs the world 
to-day will disappear as footsteps on the 
shore. Men seldom think of the great 
event of death until the shadow falls 
across their own pathway, hiding from 
their eyes the faces of loved ones whose 
living smile was the sunlight of their ex- 
istence. Death is the antagonist of life, 
and the thought of the tomb is the skel- 
eton of all feasts. We do not want to 
go through the dark valley, although its 
dark passage may lead to paradise; we do 
not want to go down into damp graves, 
even with princes for bedfellows. In the 
beautiful drama of ' Ion,' the hope of im- 
mortality, so eloquently uttered by the 
death-devoted Greek, finds deep response 
in every thoughtful soul. When about 
to yield his life a sacrifice to fate, his 
Clemantha asks if they should meet again; 
to which he responds: ' I have asked that 
dreadful question of the hills that are 
eternal; of the clear streams that flow 
forever; of stars, among those fields of 
azure my raised spirits have walked in 
glory. All are dumb. But as I gaze 
upon thy living face, I feel that there is 
something in a love that mantles through 
its beauty that cannot wholly perish. 
We shall meet again, Clemantha.' " 



PASTORA. 



0, she was heavenly fair, in face and 

mind, 
Never in nature were such beauties joined. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






TO 



Welcome, dear heart, and a most kind 
good-morrow; 
The day is gloom}', but our looks shall 
shine: — 
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I 
borrow 
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for 
thine. 

Here are red roses, gathered at thy 
cheeks, — 
The white were all too happy to look 
white; 
For love, the rose, for faith, the lily 
speaks; 
It withers in false hands, but here 'tis 
bright ! 

The golden buttercups are April's seal, — 
The daisy stars thy constellations be: 

These grew so lowly I was forced to kneel, 
Therefore I pluck no daisies but for 
thee! 



FALSE FRIEND. 

I fain would forget you, you false-hearted 
friend, 

0, little you knew of the heart thou did'st 
rend, 
When you proved thyself false unto me; 

I loved you, how blindly, nor deemed you 
untrue, 

Ne'er thought of e'er finding such false- 
ness in you, 
Nor believed you deceitful could be. 

0, hallowed is friendship, but when it is 

rent, 
How sad is the blow to the heart that it's 

sent, 
How bitter the cup that we drink; 
I loved you once fondly, but now would 

forget 
That season of pleasure in which we first 

met, 
And ne'er of its mem'ries would think. 




I love you no more; but no hatred doth 
dwell 

In my heart, as now I do bid you fare- 
well, 
But hope that you happy may be; 

May heaven's choice blessings now fill 
you with joy, 

May sorrow ne'er mar thee, thy bliss to 
destroy, 
E'en though you are false unto me. 



SOMETIME. 



Sometime, sweetheart, our paths will 
cross again, 
And I will look once more into thine 
eyes, 
And feel no more the sorrow and the pain, 
While soft and sweet will sound thy 
dear replies. 

Sometime, dear heart, sometime, though 
ocean's foam 
And mountains rise between us, we will 
meet; 
Thy heart will find within my heart its 
home, 
And all my bitter life will turn to sweet. 



THE FORSAKEN. 

Once I only wept the dead, 

But now the living cause my pain; 
How could'st thou steal me from my tears, 

To leave me to my tears again. 

The useless lock I gave thee once, 
To gaze upon and think of me, 

Was ta'en with smiles, — but this was 
torn 
In sorrow, that I send to thee. 



LOVE IN HER SUNNY EYES. 

Love in her sunny eyes does basking 
play; 
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her 
hair; 
Love does on both her lips forever stray, 
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses 
there. 



A BOOK OF POKVs 



31 



WE PARTED. 

As two ships part upon the trackless 

main. 
So we two parted, Shall we meet again? 



AN END FOR ALL THINGS. 

There is an end for all sweet things that 
he, 
An end for love and laughter, and for 
tears; 
An end for things uncouth, and fair to 
see, 
Yea ! even an end for time's unnum- 
bered years. 

And shall there be no ending for my woe; 

Seeing all things pass away and are 

forgot ? 

Tea! days shall pass me in oblivion's flow, 

And I shall have no care, if love live 

not. 



FAREWELL. 



You send me back the trinkets that I gave 
you— 
The string of pearls, the glittering 
diamond ring; 
Beneath my heel I crush the hateful 
baubles, 
And to the winds the worthless frag- 
ments fling. 

You send me back the missives T have 
written — 
Words of true love meant only for 
your eyes; 
I'll throw them all upon the burning 
embers, 
And bid you give me back the thing I 
prize. 

Give me the faith that you have rudely 
shattered — 
Faith that held womanhood almost 
divine; 
Give me the hopes that you have wrecked 
forever — 
The peace and happiness that once were 
mine. 




BARGAIN. 



Bad is the bargain, on the whole, 
To gain the world and lose the soul. 



SCORN AND HATE. 

I will no longer plead with you for love; 

I have no heart at all to speak again; 
And my soul loathes that I should ever 
move 

That heart of yours to pity of my pain. 

I cannot scorn you as my pride would 
have; 

I cannot hate you as I loved you much. 
I would not have again the love I gave 

In by-gone days for all the joy of such. 



SECURE. 



fair, sweet face! even though my heart 

is bleeding, 

Your memory thrills me like a gleam of 
light. 
0, words of love, so false, yet so entranc- 
ing, 

O'er my whole being you have cast a 
blight. 

1 shall not die, for love is strong within 

me; 
I shall drag out long years of pain and 

woe; 
My face shall wear a mask of joy and 

gladness — 
The careless world my grief shall never 

know. 

Farewell forever! And may God forgive 
you 
For this deep anguish that no words 
can tell; 
My heart is sore, may yours be filled with 
gladness — 
May all I lose be yours. Once more 
farewell ! 



Secure from harm is every hallowed nest, 
The spot is sacred where true lovers rest. <• 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A RAGGED PAIR. 

He stood in fierce despair — gaunt, hol- 
low-eyed, 
With murder whispering in his tor- 
tured ear. 
No work! His baby's cries broke down 
his pride, 
His sick wife's pleading brought the 
horror near. 

They heard his tale, and carelessly they 
threw 
A golden coin, as if they thought the 
sting 
That drove his soul's crimes bated portals 
through, 
Would weaken at the money's golden 
ring. 

His thin face settled in a hateful frown; 

The sneering charity unheeded lay; 
They who had idly crushed his manhood 
down 
Will wonder at his dark revenge some 
day. 

A man with coat as ragged as his own 
Held out his hands and spoke brave 
words of cheer, 
And lo ! the dark, stern face has gentler 
grown, 
And in the hollow eye there shines a 
tear. 

Forgotten are the hidden thoughts that 
filled 
His soul, the way seemed brighter than 
before, 
A newer courage all his life has thrilled, 
And thrown a gleam of sunshine 
through hope's door. 

He gives the most who bravely lends a 
hand 

To help his brother in the hour of need; 
God keeps the record — He can under- 
stand — 
And of our slightest service will take 
heed. 




BREATHES THERE A SOUL. 

Breathes there a soul in this gay scene of 
pleasure, 
Who at misery's plaint never heav'd 
the sad sigh; 
Can pass 'round the wine cup, and drain 
its full measure, 
Yet the teardrop of pity to sorrow 
deny? 
bear him far hence to some isle in the 
ocean, 
Where beauty ne'er beams nor affec- 
tion beguiles; 
A stranger be he still to love's soft emo- 
tion, 
Its joys and its pleasures, its hopes and 
its smiles. 

Shall our hallowed goblet by him be par- 
taken, 
Who centered in self and ne'er sympa- 
thy knew; 
Whose heart no appeal of affection can 
waken, 
Whose hand still refuses soft charity's 
due? 
Then think, ye who revel in plenty and 
splendor, 
How many there pine in chill poverty's 
blast, 
With forms full as fair and with hearts 
full as tender, 
On the world's friendless stage by ad- 
versity cast. 

Our bark, be it tight, through life's calm 
as we're stealing, 
And its crew, undivided, this motto 
profess — 
"May we never feel want," and our 
hearts ne'er "want feeling" 
For the plaints and the cares of the 
child of distress. 
May the stranger in us ever find a pro- 
tector; 
Still outstretch'd be our hands to en- 
courage the weak; 
And the pearl above price, that dissolves 
in our nectar, 
Be the bright crystal tear down hu- 
manity's cheek. 







YOSEMITE. 



iyPs 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




CYNTHIA. 

On Cynthia's love do I subsist, 
On earth, heaven's only pride; 

Let her be mine, and let who list 
Take all the world beside. 



THE APPOINTMENT. 

In^heaven at the fourth jasper wall we '11 
meet, 
Just in the shining pathway of the sun, 

There I '11 await your coming down the 
street, 
Not as an angel with big wings upon 

Your shoulder, but every line and feature 

The same dear, lovely, and familiar crea- 
ture. 

Come in that favorite skirt of spotted 
lawn, 

The hair untwisted, yellow as the dawn, 

The dear poke bonnet shadowing the 
brown eyes, 

Where such a wealth of dear affection 
lies. 

Other than this I would not have you 
come. 

Your cheeks like fair twin peaches in 
their bloom, 

The firm, strong shoulders, and the brown 
sash placed 

A careless girdle at your tapering waist; 

For huge, great wings, such as your art- 
ists paint, 

Must sorely discommode the agile saint. 



DRUNKENNESS. 

If you wish to be always thirsty, be a 
drunkard; for the oftener and the more 
you drink, the oftener and more thirsty 
you will become. 

If you would effectually counteract 
your own efforts to do well and be pros- 
perous in the world, be a drunkard; and 
you will not be disappointed. 

If you are determined to be poor and 
desolate, be a drunkard; and you will soon 
e ragged and penniless. 



If you wish to starve and disgrace your 
family, be a drunkard; for that will con- 
sume the means of their support and keep 
them in obscurity. 

If you wish to incapacitate yourself 
from rational intercourse, or become a 
fool, be a drunkard; for you will soon 
lose your understanding and your reason. 

If you would squander your money and 
your valuable time, without knowing how, 
be a drunkard; and they will vanish in- 
sensibly. 

If you would deprive your friends of 
your rational society, your children of 
good advice, or of a good example, be a 
drunkard; for no drunkard can give ad- 
vice that will be likely to be heeded, and 
no drunkard can set a good example for 
his friends or his children. 

If you would alienate the affections and 
destroy the happiness of your wife, if you 
would blast the hopes and exterminate 
the prospects of your children, if you 
would destroy your usefulness and pros- 
perity in life, if you would impair your 
health and become a prey to disease and 
premature death, be a drunkard; for 
drunkenness drowns the memory, defaces 
beauty, reduces usefulness, destroys the 
sen-es, is a thief of your purse and time, 
is the beggar's companion, the wife's woe, 
the children's sorrow and his own worst 
enemy. He is worse than a beast who 
drinks to another's good health and robs 
himself of bis own. 

For he who drinks more wine than others 

can, 
I rather count a hogshead than a man. 




THAT A YEAR. 

that a year were granted me to live, 
And for that year my former wits re- 
stored! 
What rules of life, what counsel I would 
give, 
How should my sin with sorrow be de- 
plored. A 

'fir 




A BOOK OF POEMS 





KISSING ON THE SLY. 

When a girl is seventeen, she thinks it 
very mean, 
If she can't go out in town and make 

a mash; 
She will pucker up her mouth with a very 
naughty pout, 
And she 1 11 fumble all around his white 
mustache. 
She will make a fellow shiver, 
And she' 11 make him swim the river, 
And she 1 11 stick as tight as granulated 
glue; 
There's no use to try to tell her 
You' re some other lady's feller, 
She will masticate your smeller if you do. 

Chorus — For the girls all love it, no 
widows are above it, 
Everybody has a finger in the pie; 
Old maids are so haughty, they say it' s 
very naughty, 
But you bet your life they do it on the 
sly. 



"When a man falls deep in love with a 
ltttle turtle dove, 
He will try to linger round her ever- 
more; 
He will kiss her for her mother, for her 
sister, and her brother, 
'Till her father comes and kicks him 
out the door. 
He pulls a pistol from his pocket, 
Lifts the hammer for to cock it 
And vows he' 11 blow out his shallow 
brains; 
But his duck she says he must'nt, 
'Tis'nt loaded, so he doesn't, 
And they're kissing one another once 
again. 

Chorus — For the girls all love it, no 
widows are above it, 
Everybody has a finger in the pie; 
Old maids are so haughty, they say it' s 
very naughty, 
But you bet your life they do it on the 
sly. 



If you want to kiss her neatly, very 
sweetly, and completely, 
You must do it so that she will think 
its nice; 
When you get a chance to kiss her, make 
a pass or two and miss her, 
Then smack her on the kisser once or 
twice. 
She then will vow she loves you, 
By all the powers above you, 
And that she' 11 be true through all her 
future life, 
And if you wish to marry, 
No longer you need tarry, 
But proceed forthwith to kiss her your 
dear wife. 

Chorus — For the girls all love it, no 
widows are above it 
Everybody has a finger in the pie; 
Old maids are so haughty, they say it's 
very naughty, 
But you bet your life they do it on the 
sly. 



SWEETHEART NELL. 

" Sweetheart Nell, I want to whisper 
Something tender in your ear; 
Something I and not the rose, 
Or the listening robins hear." 
" Never mind the rose or robin, 

If you 've something nice to tell, 
Take a girl's advice and tell it," 

Answered laughing, sweetheart Nell. 

"Listen then; I love you, darling, 
More than any words can say; 

If I 'd make you understand it, 
I must find some other way. 

Love must find a better language 
Than mere spoken words, to tell 

All its passion, all its longing." 

" Find it, then," said sweetheart Nell. 

" I have often thought that kisses 

Were the language of the heart, 
When a lover to his maiden 

Would his tender'st thoughts impart. 
I could make you know in kisses, 

What in words I cannot tell." 
" Then, if I were you, I 'd do it," 

Laughed bewitching, sweetheart Nell. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




. TO AN ABSENT ONE. 

O'er hill and dale and distant sea, 

Through all the miles that stretch be- 
tween, 
My thoughts must fly to rest on thee, 
And would, though worlds should in- 
tervene. 

Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks 
The further we are forced apart, 

Affection's firm elastic links 

But bind thee closer round the heart. 

For now we sever, each from each, 
I learn what I have lost in thee; 

Alas! that nothing less could teach 
How great, indeed, my love should be. 



TO FICKLE ELLEN. 

" Ellen, I will no longer call you mine, 
That time is past, and ne'er can come 
again ; 
However other lights undimmed may 
shine, 
And undiminishing, one truth is plain, 
Which I, alas! have learned — that love 
can wane. 
The dream has passed away, the veil is 
rent, 
Your heart was not intended for my 
reign; 
A sphere so full, I feel, was never meant 
With one poor man in it to be content. 

"0, Ellen! I once little thought to write 
Such words unto you, with so hard a 
pen; 
Yet outraged love will change its nature 
quite, 
And turn like tiger hunted to its den — 
And so farewell, till time's eternal sickle 
Shall reap our lives; in this or foreign 
land 
Some other may be found for truth to 
stickle, 
Almost as fair, and not so false and 
fickle!" 



" I false ! — unjust Lorenzo ! — and to you, 

all ye holy gospels that incline 
The soul to truth, bear witness I am true! 
By all that lives, of earthly or divine — 
So long as this poor throbbing heart is 
mine — 
T false ! — the world shall change its course 
as soon! 
True as the streamlet to the stars that 
shine — 
True as the dial to the sun at noon, 
True as the tide to yonder blessed moon! " 



SCORN. 



I tell thee that I scorn thee now 
Far more than words can speak; 

Thou 'It read it on my flashing brow, 
And on my burning cheek. 

Thou 'It never know how long it took 
To break the fearful chain; 

But well thou know'st 't is not for thee 
To bind this heart again. 



ANNIE ADAIR. 

There 's not in this wide world 

A maiden more fair 
Than the one I love best, 

My sweet Annie Adair. 

Soft, soft are her tresses 

Of fair golden hue, 
But more soft her bright eyes 

Of loveliest blue. 

Her form 's like a sylph, 
Her step 's like a fawn, 

As gayly she trips 

Over meadow and lawn. 

The violet scarce bends 
'Neath her delicate tread, 

And the lily just bows down 
Its beautiful head. 

There 's not in this wide world 

A maiden more fair 
Than the one I love best, 

My sweet Annie Adair. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




'TIS EVER THUS. 



'T is thus, ever thus, earthly hope must 

decay — 
The fairest of flowers the first fade away, 
The frieuds we love hest will the soonest 

depart, 
Though their memory is written with 

tears on our heart. 

I can weep when I think of the joys that 

are past, 
I can weep when I think that those joys 

could not last, 
But hope sends a vision that's gentle and 

fair, 
And bids me look upward and cease to 

despair. 

But the soft voice is hush'd, and the 

bright eye of blue 
Will close on the things that are dark 

and untrue; 
On the waves of the world they will never 

be tossed, 
Then why should we weep for the loved 

and the lost? 



I DO NOT LOVE THEE. 

I do not love thee: no, and yet methinks 

Thy voice is rarest I have ever heard, 
Sounding my name, the ear its music 
drinks, 
Baptised with joy it is a new-born 
world. 

I do not love thee: no, and yet I dream 
Of thee, when slumber seals my heavy 
eyes 
And waking, Oh! how lonely does it 
seem — 
Could I but clasp thee, what a sweet 
surprise. 

I do not love thee: no, and yet the stars 
Look down upon me with the steady 
ray 
Thine eyes have held, when through the 
envious bars 
Of down dropped lashes, mine [.have 
looked away. 




I do not love thee: no, yet when alone 
Some trick of thine is sure to be my 
theme, 
And when my day to life's full pulse hath 
grown, 
With none but thee I'd share the bliss- 
ful dream. 

I do not love thee: no, I do not love thee, 
And yet, and yet, 't would be a joyless 
lot, 
Could all the world be given unto me, 
And I its mistress be, yet have thee 
not. 



AMELIA. 



What soft stars are peeping 

Through the pure azure sky, 
And southern gales sweeping 

Their warm breathings by? 
Like sweet music pealing 

Far o'er the blue sea, 
There comes o'er me stealing 

Sweet memories of thee! 

Like a sweet lute that lingers 

In silence alone, 
Unswept by light fingers, 

Scarce utters a tone; 
My light heart resembles 

That lute light and free, 
Till o'er its chords tremble 

Those memories of thee! 

The bright rose, when faded, 

Flings forth o'er its tomb 
Its velvet leaves laded 

With silent perfume; 
Thus round me will hover, 

In grief or in glee, 
Till life's dream be over, 

Sweet memories of thee! 



BEAUTIFUL EMMA. 

In all my Emma's beauties blest, 
Amidst profusion still I pine; 

For though she gives me all the rest, 
Its panting tenant is not mine. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




OVERMUCH. 

You know I loved you overmuch; and 
now 
That love between us two must ever 
cease; 
Is there another hand to strike such 
blow? 
Will there e'er come again unto me 
peace ? 

There is no thing in earth or heaven so 
rare 
As love that lives, and dies not, in the 
heart; 
There is no thing for me had been so 
fair, 
Had love of me in you held such a part. 

The distant heaven that never heard a 
prayer 
Will scarce relent for useless tears let 
fall; 
And scoffing, heartless men will have no 
care 
If you or I had ever loved at all. 

Therefore, thro' all the blasting, weary 
length 
Of iron-footed years that rend and 
break, 
I reckless treadfupheld by sullen strength, 
And know lips laugh while hearts be- 
neath may ache. 

All things are ended now between us two; 

All, save a little memory of the past; 
That lingers for a time; but I tell you 

That, too, will have an ending at the 
last. 




CHOOSE A PROPER TIME TO 
MARRY. 

Choose a proper time to marry — 
As a bard of old has sung — 

A year too long you 'd better tarry, 
Than be wed a year too young. 

After marriage wisdom teaches 
Sweet submission in the wife; 

Wear a gown and not the breeches, 
If you'd live a happy life. 



SHE WHOM I LOVE. 

A fairer maiden ne'er was born, 
Than she I love, sweet Sally Home. 



THE UNDER DOG. 

I know that the world, that the great big 
world, 

From the peasant up to the king, 
Has a different tale from the tale I tell, 

And a different song to sing. 

But for me — and I care not a single fig 
If they say I am wrong or am right — 

I shall always go for the weaker dog, 
For the under dog in the fight. 

I know that the world, that the great big 
world, 

Will never a moment stop 
To see which dog may be in the fault, 

But will shout for the dog on top. 

But, for me, I never shall pause to ask 
Which dog may be in the right, 

For my heart will beat, while it beats at 
all, 
For the under dog in the fight. 

Perchance what I've said, I had better 
not said, 
Or 'twere better I had said it incog., 
But with heart and with glass filled chock 
to the brim, 
Here's a health to the bottom dog. 



A PRECIOUS GIFT. 

I send the lilies given to me, 

Though long before thy hand they 
touch 
I know that they must withered be, — 

But yet reject them not as such ; 
For I have cherished them as dear, 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
And guide thy soul to mine even here, 

When thou behold'st them drooping 
nigh, 
And know'st them gathered by the Rhine, 
And offered from my heart to thine. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




BUDS. 

Buds of early promise often blast be- 
fore tbev bloom. 




THE PICTURE. 

Sweet Esther, thou art beautiful! I gaze 
With passionate rapture on thy pictured 

charms; 
And had I never seen thee, I would deem 
This radiant here some soft chained 

dream, 
Fresh from a painter's glowing reverie of 

young poets fancy. 
Was ever neck hugged by such glorious 

tresses! I would give 
One-half an empire but to put my arm 

about that alabaster! 
I would fain gaze evermore within thy 

babbling eyes 
And read the lore of eloquence which 

flows 
From thy rich heart like music. 

I have heard of solitude — fond dreamer, 
in whose soul 

An ideal image of the beautiful had blos- 
somed 

Till the whole love of his heart was con- 
centrated on it; 

That he roved through many lands and 
o'er stormy seas 

In search of a reality to match his own 
wild, 

Bright creation; that at last, as though 
to push the search 

In other worlds, with music murmurs yet 
upon his lips, 

Addressed to the weird beauty, born of 
thought, 

With which his heart was haunted, he 
sank down 

Into a wakeless slumber. Had he seen 
the sweet original 

Whose picture I now cover with my 
kisses, he had not 

Clung with such life-devotion to the myth 

His own mind had created, nor gone down 
into 

The solemn stillness of the grave unsat- 
isfied. 



We weary of all sights that Nature 

holdeth 
To our mortal eyes excepting woman only. 

She ne'er palls 
Upon the soul or senses, but, grows more 

and yet more dear 
The more that we behold; for woman is 

earth's poetry. 
Her voice is soft and sweet as breathings 

of a flute, 
Her glance, a heavenly revelation; her 

footsteps lure up flowers, 
And her heart's man's richest riches. 

She was made for man. • 
His life without her presence would be 

like 
A ring without a jewel — like a night 
Without a flood of moonlight — a bare 

tree 
Where no bird ever nestles — a dark well 
Where no star ever pauses — a black star 
Unfinished by a rainbow — a mute shell, 
Its melody forgotten — like — like — like 
Woman without man. 



SOME DAY. 



I know not when the day will be, 

I know not when our eyes may meet, 

What welcome you may give to me, 
Or will your words be sad or sweet. 

It may not be till years have passed, 
Till eyes are dim and tresses gray; 

The world is wide, but love — alas! 
Our hands, our hearts, must meet^some 
day. 

But when we meet some day — some day, 
Eyes clearer grown the truth may see, 

And every cloud shall roll away 

That darkens, love, 'twixt you and me. 



COURTING. 



'Tis sweet to court a pretty girl, but ah! 

alas, how bitter, 
To be refused by her vou love, and find 

you cannot get her. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ABSENCE. 

Now, since thy graceful form has gone, 

Thine absence each emotion smothers, 
For what I sought in thee alone, 

In truth I cannot find in others; 
So fare thee well, my dearest maid, 

'T is vain and fruitless to regret thee; 
No hope nor memory jdelds me aid, 

And pride may teach me to forget 
thee. # 
Yet now and then a thought will steal, 

In spite of every vain endeavor: 
Does Emma know the pangs I feel? 

Believing that she 's lost forever. 



THE PICTURE. 

Matches are made for many reasons — 
For love, convenience, money, fun, and 
spite! 
How many against common sense are 
treasons! 
How few the happy pairs that match 
aright. 

In the fair breast of some bewitching 
dame, 
How many a youth will strive fond love 
to waken! 
And when, at length, successful in his 
aim, 
Be first Miss-led, and afterwards Miss- 
taken. 

Old men young women wed — by way of 

nurses; 
Young men old women — just to fill their 

purses, 
Then curse their fate, at matrimony 

swear, 
And, like poor Adam, have a rib to spare! 



CONCEIT. 



Some men through life assume a part 

For which no talent they possess, 
Yet wonder still, with all their art, 
hey meet no better with success. 




COL. ROBERT G. INGERSOLI/S 

ADDRESS AT THE FUNERAL 

OF B. W. PARKER, HIS 

FATHER-IN LAW. 



AT THE HOUSE. 

Friends and Neighbors: To fulfill a 
promise made years ago, it is necessary 
for me to say a word: 

He whom we are about to lay in the 
earth, was gentle, kind and loving in his 
life. He was ambitions only to live with 
those he loved. He was hospitable, gen- 
erous and sincere. He loved his friends 
and the friends of his friends. He re- 
turned good for good. He lived the life 
of a child, and died without leaving in 
the memory of his family the record of 
an unkind act. Without assurance and 
without fear, we give him back, as it 
were, to Nature, the source and mother 
of us all. 

Friend, husband, father, fare thee well! 

At the conclusion of the remarks, when 
the friends had been given the last op- 
portunity to look upon the face of the 
departed beloved, the casket was closed 
and the funeral procession, in charge of 
Mr. Vance, was formed. A long line of 
carriages followed the hearse to the final 
resting place of the dead in Springdale 
Cemetery. Col. Ingersoll, in a most earn- 
est and affecting manner, made the fol- 
lowing remarks: 

AT THE GRAVE. 

With morn, with noon, with night, 
with changing clouds and changeless 
stars — with grass, with trees and birds; 
with leaf and bud; with flower and blos- 
soming vine; with all the sweet influence 
of Nature, we leave our dead. 

Again, farewell! 



DREAM. 



Alas! I wake; 'tis gone, for never 
Mine such bliss can ever be; 

Or I would sleep, and sleep forever, 
Could I thus always dream of thee 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




DIVORCE. 

'Twas once I hovered round about yon, 
And thought I could not live without you; 
But as we've lived six months asunder, 
How I lived with you is a wonder! 



THE FAITHFUL LOVERS. 

I'd been away from her three years, — 
about that, 
And I returned to find my Mary true; 
And though I 'd question her, I did not 
doubt that 
It was unnecessary so to do. 

'T was by the chimney corner we were 
. sitting; 
" Mary," said I, "have you been always 
true?" 
"Frankly," says she, just pausing in her 
knitting, 
" I do n't think I 've unfaithful been to 
you: 
But for the three years I '11 tell you what 
I've done; then say if I've been true or 
not. 

"When first you left, my grief was un- 
controlable; 
Alone I mourned my miserable lot; 

And all who saw me thought me incon- 
solable, 
Till Captain Clifford came from Alder- 
shott. 

To flirt with him amused me while 't was 
new; 

I don't count that unfaithfulness — do 
you? 

"The next — oh ! let me see — was Frankie 
Phipps; 
I met him at my uncle's, Christmas- 
tide, 

And 'neath the mistletoe, where lips meet 
lips, 
He gave me his first kiss," — and here 
she sighed. 

"We stayed six weeks at uncle's — how 
time flew! 

I do n't count that unfaithfulness — do 
you? 




" Lord Cecil Fosmore — only twenty- 
one — 
Lent me his horse. 0! how we rode 
and raced; 
We scoured the downs — we rode to 
hounds — such fun! 
And often was his arm about my 
t waist, — 
That was to lift me up and down. But 
who 
Would call just that unfaithfulness — 
would you? 

"Do you know Reggy Vere? Ah, how 

he sings! 
We met — 't was at a pic nic. 0, such 

weather! 
Be gave me, look, the first of these two 

rings 
When we were lost in Cliefden Woods 

togethei\ 
Ah, what a happy time we spent, — we 

two! 
I do n't count that unfaithfulness to you. 

" I 've yet another ring from him, d' ye 

see 
The plain gold circlet that is shining 

here?" 
I took her hand: u 0, Mary! Can it be 
That you " — quoth she: " That I am 

Mrs. Vere. 
I do n't call that unfaithfulness — - do 

you?" 
" No," I replied, "for I am married too!" 



EYES. 



The fair black eye, the melting blue, 
I cannot choose between the two; 
But she is dearest all the while, 
Who throws on me the sweetest smile. 



FIRST LOVE. 

From the first hour she caught my sight, 
I've thought' of her both day and night; 
She kept my heart forever glowing, 
No other girl could make such showing; 
Whilst she my fancy seemed to take, 
I loved her for her own dear sake. 



©I 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE ILL WIND. 

In debt, deserted, and forlorn, 

A melancholy elf 
Resolved, upon a Monday morn, 

To go and hang himself. 

He reached the tree, when lo! he-views 

c 

A pot of gold concealed; 
He snatched it up, threw down the noose, 
And scampered from the field. 

The owner came — found out the theft, 
And, having scratched his head, 

Took up the rope the other left, 
And hung himself instead. 



THE PRETTY MAID OP WHITSON. 

The maid (and herewith hangs a tale) 
For such a maid no Whitson ale 

Could ever yet produce; 
No grape that's kindly ripe, could be 
So round, so plump, so soft as she, 

Nor half so full of juice. 




THE BEST OP WIVES. 

A man had once a vicious wife, 
(A most uncommon thing in life); 
His days and nights were spent in strife 
Unceasing. 

Her tongue went glibly all day long, 
Sweet contradiction still her song, 
And all the poor man did was wrong 
And ill done. 

He every soothing art displayed, 
Tried of what stuff her skin was made; 
Failing in all, to Heaven he prayed 
To take her. 

Once walking by a river's side, 
In mournful terms, "My dear," he cried, 
"No more let feuds our peace divide; 
I'lll end them. 

" Weary of life, and quite resigned, 
To drown I have made up my mind, 
So tie my hands as fast behind 
As can be." 



With eager haste the dame complies, 
While joy stands glist'ning in her eyes; 
Already in her thought he dies 
Before her. 

" It would be better far, I think, 
While close I stand upon the brink, 
You push me in — nay, never shrink, 
But do it!" 

To give the blow the more effect, 
Some twenty yards she ran direct, 
And did what she could least expect 
She should do. 

He slips aside himself to save; 
So souse she dashes in the wave, 
And gave what ne'er before she gave — 
Much pleasure. 

"Dear husband, help! I sink!" she cried; 
"Thou best of wives!" the man replied, 
"I would, but you my hands have tied; 
God help ye!" 



MONEY. 



Don't think too much of money, 

But learn to work and plan; 
Use honesty in every deal, 

And save up all you can; 
'Tis the fool who boasts of riches, 

His dollars, dimes, or pence; 
The best of wealth is youth and health, 

With good, sound common sense. 



A PROVERB. 



Stillest streams oft water fairest mead- 
ows, and the bird that flutters least is 
longest on the wing. 



GAMBLING. 



Some play for gain ; to pass the time some 

play 
For nothing; others play the fool, I say; 
But neither tin^e nor money idly spend, 
For though you gain by play, you're loser 

in the end. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



43 



6 



IE 



I NEVER WILL FORGET. 

Forget thee! no, there still exists 

A place within my heart, 
Which I shall ever keep for thee, 

Dear friend, where'er thou art; 
Whatever fate shall mark thy path, 

By mountain, plain, or sea, 
Thy presence I shall not forget, 

For I'll remember thee. 



PHILOSOPHY. 

Now, such is man's philosophy, 
When woman proves untrue; 

The loss of one should teach him — 
To make some other do. 



PROVERBS, COUPLETS, Etc. 

Give every man thine ear, but few thy 

voice, 
Hear each one's counsel, but reserve thy 

choice. 

If you degenerate from your race, 
Their merit heightens your disgrace. 

Appearance will betray, for, understand, 
A pure white glove may hide a filthy hand. 

Use no deception, girls, for all must fade, 
And she who cheats a man must die a 
maid. 

I long not for those cherries on the tree, 
So much as those which on thy lips I see. 

'Tis Heaven that gives to thee thy form 

and grace, 
And plants an angel in thy sweet young 

face. 

If this be true, the man who never sighs, 
Should split his sides with mirth — he 
never dies. 

Though others may sneer and in envy 

defame her, 
My heart swells with gladness whenever 

I name her. 




With so much fun, and jokes, and mirth 

about you, 
I do n't see how the boys can live without 

you. 

A pin-back, of course, stockings striped 

to the knees, 
Leaving men to imagine just what they 

please. 

Should wicked thoughts your vision mar, 
Sit down and smoke a good cigar. 

For he who thinks himself already wise, 
Of course all future learning will despise. 

Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, 
The power of beauty I remember yet. 

For when I saw you Cupid shot a dart, 
Which gave a wound I still feel in my 
heart. 

And now, fair ladies, one and all adieu, 
Good health, good husbands, and good-by 
to you. 



CONTENT. SPARKING. 

Now stir the fire and close the shutters 
fast, 
Let fall the curtain, wheel the sofa 
round; 
We '11 talk of love till midnight's hour is 
past, 
While the old folks in bed are sleeping 
sound. 



HOW SWIFTLY PASS THE HOURS. 

How swiftly pass the hours away, 

When thou, dear girl, art by my side; 

With thee, each year would seem a day, 
Should you consent to be my bride. 



DISCONTENT. 

'Tis said that frail, inconstant man, 
Is ne'er content with what he is; 

Each thinks he can in others scan 
A happiness more pure than his 




w^ 



u 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




DECEIT. 

Oh ! who can tell where the maid is found 

Whose heart can love without deceit, 
I '11 travel all the world around 

To kneel one moment at her feet; 
Show me on earth a thing so rare, 

Then I will prove the fact most true, 
To make one maid sincere and fair 

Would be the utmost heaven could do. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

How much to be priz'd and esteem'd is 

a friend, 
On whom we can always with safety 

depend; 
Our joys, when extended, will always 

increase, 
And griefs, when divided, are hushed 

into peace. 



CHOICE OF FRIENDS. 

'Tis always in the choice of friends, 
Our good or evil name depends; 
Who friendship with a knave hath made, 
Is judged a partner in the trade. 



A FRIEND IN THEE. 

In calm composure I had fondly thought 
In thee I found the friend my heart had 

sought; 
I fondly dreamed ere summer's days were 

gone, 
Thy heart and mine would ^mingle into 

one. 



LISANTA. 




I admit you are handsome, but still I 
should guess, 
That others are handsome as you; 
I Ve heard you called charming, but 
you must confess, 
That all thinsro we hear are not true. 



ELEGY ON A QUID OF TOBACCO. 

It lay before me on the close-grazed grass, 
Beside my path, an old tobacco quid; 

And shall I by the mute adviser pass 
Without one serious thought? now 
heaven forbid! 

Perhaps some idle drunkard threw thee 
there, 
Some husband,spendthrif t of his weekly 
hire, 
One who for wife and children takes no 
care, 
But sits and tipples by the ale-house fire. 

Ah ! luckless was the day he learned to 
chew ! 
Embryo of ills the quid that pleas'd him 
first! 
Thirsty from that unhappy quid he grew, 
Then to the ale-house went to quench 
his thirst. 

So great events from causes small arise, 
The forest oak was once an acorn seed: 

And many a wretch from drunkenness 
who dies, 
Owes all his mis'ry to the Indian weed, 

Let not temptation, mortal, ere come nigh! 

Suspect some ambush in the parsley hid! 
From the first kiss of love ye maidens fly! 

Ye youths, avoid the first tobacco quid ! 



SHE LOVED. 



She loved; and young Richard had settled 
the day, 
And she hoped to be happy for life: 
But Richard was idle and worthless, and 

they 
Who knew him would pity poor Mary, 
and say 
That she was too good for his wife. 



IS THIS FANCY? 

Is this a fancy which our reason scorns? 
Ah! surely nothing dies but something 
mourns. 










A BOOK OF POEMS 




A RETORT. 

Our Nick, who taught the village school, 
Wedded a maid of homespun habit; 

He was stubborn as a mule, 
She, as playful as a rabbit. 

Poor Jane had sea ire become a wife 
Before her husband sought to make her 

Tbe pink of country polished life, 
As prim and formal as a Quaker. 

One day the tutor went abroad, 

And simple Jeuny sadly missed him; 

When he returned, behind her lord 
She slyly stole, and fondly kissed, him. 

The husband's anger rose! — and red 
And white his face alternate grew! 
"Less freedom, ma'am! 1 ' Jane sighed and 

said, 
"Oh, dear! I didn't know 'twas you." 



DELIA, SHE SINGS. 

She sings! the nightingale with envy 
hears, 
The cherubim bends from his starry 
throne, 
And motionless are stopped the attentive 
spheres, 
To hear more heavenly music than 
their own. 

Cease, Delia, cease! for all the angel 
throng, 
Listening to thee, let sleep their golden 
wires ! 
Cease, Delia, cease that too surpassing 
song, 
Lest, stung to envy, they should break 
their lyres. 



CORA'S EYES. 

Oh ! I could brave the bolts of angry Jove, 
When ceaseless lightnings fire the mid- 
night skies; 

What is his wrath to that of her I love? 
What is his lightning to my Cora's 



eyes: 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes; 
Flow gently, I '11 sing thee a song in thy 

praise; 
My Mary 1 s asleep by the murmuring 

stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her 

dream. 

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds 
through the glen, 

Ye wild whistling black birds, in yon 
thorny den, 

Thou green-crested lapwing, thy scream- 
ing forbear; 

I charge you disturb not my slumbering 
fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring 
hills, 

Far marked with the courses of clear- 
winding rills! 

There daily I wander, as noon rises high, 

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my 
eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green val- 
leys below, 

There, wild in the woodlands, the prim- 
roses blow! 

There, oft as mild evening weeps over the 
lee, 

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary 
and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it 

glides 
And winds by the cot where my Mary 

resides ; 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet 

lave 
As, gathering sweet flow'rets, she stems 

thy clear wave. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 

green braes; 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my 

lays: 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring 

stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

her dream. 



5&= 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




GIRLHOOD. 



An 



exquisite incompleteness, blossom 
foreshadowing fruit; 
A sketch faint in its beauty, with prom- 
ise of future worth, 
A plant with some leaves unfolded, and 
the rest asleep at its root, 
To deck with their future sweetness the 
fairest thing on the earth. 

Womanhood, wifehood, motherhood — 
each a possible thing, 
Dimly seen through the silence that 
lies between then and now; 
Something of each and all has woven a 
magic ring, 
Linking the three together in glory on 
girlhood's brow. 



WRITING. 



How calm and quiet a delight 

Is it, alone, 
To read, and meditate, and write, 

By none offended and offending none ! 
To walk, ride, sit or sleep at one's own ease, 
And pleasing a man's self, none other to 
displease. 




PERSEVERENCE. 

A swallow in the spring 

Came to our granary, and 'neath the 
eaves 
Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring 

Wet earth, and straw and leaves. 

Day after day she toiled 

With patient art, but ere her work was 
crowned, 
Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, 

And dashed it to the ground. 

She found the ruin wrought, 

But, not cast down, forth from the 
place she flew, 
And with her mate fresh earth and 
grasses brought, 
And built her nest anew. 



But scarcely had she placed 

The last soft feather on its ample floor, 
When wicked hand, or chance, again laid 
waste 

And wrought the ruin o'er. 

But still her heart she kept, 

And toiled again, — and last night, 
hearing calls, 
I looked, — and lo! three little swallows 
slept 
Within the earth-made walls. 

What truth is here, man! 

Hath hope been smitten in its early 
dawn ? 
Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust, 
or plan ? 
Have faith and struggle on! 



HER SEALSKIN SACQUE. 

She 's home at last and her heart is gay, 
She opens her wardrobe, alack! alack! 

She finds that while she has been away 
The moths have destroyed her sealskin 
sacque. 



THE PARTING. 

I go, but still my soul remains with thee, 

Still will the eye of fancy paint thy 

charms, 

Still, lovely maid, thy imaged form I see, 

Still shall I hope to clasp thee in my 

arms. 



YOU MAY SMILE. 

Yes, you may smile, young man, but still 

'tis true, 
And not the fiction of a distempered 

brain; 
The first effect of love, like morning dew, 
If crushed ne'er sparkles on that flower 

again; 
Unless, perchance, like clouds behind the 

skies, 
It shines again more bright when morn 

arise. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



47 



DECEIT. 

That friendship you hoast of deserves not 
the name, 
For friendship and love are forever 
entwined; 
Whilst yours is deceit, and is never the 
same, 
As it comes from a heart that was never 
refined. 



FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE. 

Friendship often ends in love, 
But love in friendship never. 

The reason why — if love be true 
Friendship is merged forever. 



RELIANCE. 



There 's a game now in fashion, I think 

it 's called euchre, 
Some play it for fun, some play it for 

lucre; 
When one of the party in a confident 

tone, 
Thinks he can best play it by " going 

alone." 

In life much depends on the hand you 

may hold, 
To secure for yourself wit, beauty, or 

gold; 
Yet the game may be lost with all these 

for your own, 
Unless you have courage to " go it alone." 

In love or in business, whatever the 
game, 

In pleasure or profit, 'tis always the 
same; 

In a struggle for power, or scramble for 
pelf, 

Always " go it alone," and rely on your- 
self. 



FEELING:. 




Of feeling all things show some sign 
But this unfeeling heart of thine. 



ADVICE TO GIRLS. 

Girls, a simple tale I would relate, 
And the lesson you must carry; 

Choose not alone a proper mate, 
But a proper time to marry. 



LOST. 



I had a friend. Our souls clasp'd hands; 
Our heart-strings, like two vines, about 
Each other twined till twain seemed one 

For time and for eternity. 
One stormy night, lo, while I slept, 
I know not how, or why, my friend 
Unloosed the cords, and faithless fled. 
Speak not of death, nor count that loss 
Which plucks from earth a flower to bloom 

In heaven. 
He only sounds the depth 
Of woe, and drinks the gall of life, 
Who mourns a living friend that 's lost. 



PARTING. 



For the present we part, though I hope 
not forever, 
Till death on my shoulders his mantle 
shall cast; 
But to prove each sincere we both should 
endeavor 
To forget and forgive what was said 
in the past. 

With all my soul, then, let us part, ' 
Since both are anxious to be free, 

And I will send you home your heart, 
If you will send back mine to me. 



INDIFFERENCE. 

Your coolness I heed not, your frown I 

defy, 
Your affection I need not, the time has 

gone by; 
Not a blush or a kiss from your cheek 

could beguile 
My soul from its safety, 't is hypocrisy's 

smile. 



^ 



iji 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




INCONSTANCY. 

Good-bye, dear girl, I 'd rather make 
My home on some infernal lake, 
Where the bright sun doth never shine, 
Than trust to love as false as thine. 



INFATUATION. 

My heart was caught by her black eyes, 

1 felt my soul grow tender; 
What would I give for such a prize? 

She 's a girl of royal splendor. 

If fame, and wealth, and love were mine, 
And health and youth possessed me; 

I'd give the wealth of Ophir's mine 
To get ber to caress me. 

On her sweet lips I'd leave a kiss, 

I never should forget it; 
T 'would be to me celestial bliss, 

And she would not regret it. 



IN SUBMISSION I YIELD. 

In submission I yield to your charms, and 
allow 
That in graces but few are above you; 
And charming and fair as I see you, I 
vow — 
For I will not deny it — I love you. 



OLD MAIDS. 



Such be my condition, whether wretched 

or blest, 
Old maid is a term I do firmly detest; 
And rather than suffer such a horrible 

fate, 
I will marry a man whom I perfectly 

hate. 



NO GOOSE SO GRAY. 

■ 

No goose so gray, but soon or late, 
She '11 find some gander for a mate. 

grf> 

>l3*t , : 



I DID NOT KNOW. 

I did not know I loved him so, 
Until I bade him leave me; 

I did not know, when he did go, 
His absence thus would grieve me. 

Now, since he's gone, I feel forlorn, 
I think all day about him — 

To cancel all, I'll him recall, 
I feel so bad without him. 



A LINK. 



My love and I walked from the play — 
Serene and starry was the night; 

I felt she could not say me "nay" 
Mid scenes so calm, so fair, so bright. 

I plied my suit with eloquence — 
Assured her of my fervent love; 

She spoke not in her innocence, 
My darling one, my duck, my dove! 

She leaned and sobbed upon my arm, 
As if by some great fear oppressed ; 

I told her she need fear no harm, 
As I her suffused cheek caressed. 

At last she summoned strength to speak — 
I thought her little heart would burst; 

She said imploringly and meek, 
" I want a link of Weinerwurst." 



GIRLS. 



Roses bloom and then they perish, 
Cheeks are bright, then fade away; 

Marry him whose love you cherish, 
Nor postpone the happy day. 



THERE'S A BLISS. 

There's a bliss beyond all that the min- 
strel has told, 
When two that are linked in a heavenly 
tie, 
With hearts never changing and love 
never cold, 
But, amidst every fate, love on till they 
die. 




J3^' 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



& 






MEDITATION. 

There are moments, methinks, when the 
spirit receives 

Whole volumes of thought on its un- 
written leaves, 

When the folds of the heart in a moment 
unclose 

Like the innermost leaves from the heart 
of the rose. 



MISSES. 



One extravagant miss won't cost a man 
less 
Than a dozen good wives who are sav- 
ing; 

Tor wives, they will spare that others may 

share. 
But the misses forever are craving! 



THE POWER OF POETRY TO 
CONFER FAME. 

One day I wrote her name upon the 
strand, 
But came the waves and washed it all 
away; 
Again I wrote it with a second hand, 
But came the tide and made my pains 
his prey. 
"Vain man!"' said she, "that doth in 
vain essay 
A mortal thing so to immortalize, 
For I, myself, shall like to this, decay, 
And soon my name be wiped out like- 
wise. 11 

"Not so," quoth I, "let baser things de- 
vise 
To die in dust, but you shall live by 
fame; 
My verse your virtues rare shall eternize, 
And in the heavens write your glorious 
name, 
Where, when as death shall all the world 

subdue, 
Our love shall live, and later, life renew." 
4 



MARRIAGE. 

Let no repugnance to the single state 
Lead to a marriage with a worthless mate. 



NOVELS. TRUE. 

'Tis happiness to lounge upon a couch, 

says Gray, 
And read dime novels on a rainy day; 
But when night comes you sneak away 

to bed, 
Without one useful idea in your head. 



A NAME. 



Words cut in marble are but trifles spent; 
'T is a good name that makes the monu- 
ment. 



WHAT LACK WE YET? 

When Washington was President, 

As cold as any icicle, 
He never on a railroad went, 

And never rode a bicycle. 

He read by no electric lamp, 

Nor heard about the Yellowstone; 

He never licked a postage stamp, 
And never saw a telephone. 

His trousers ended at. his knees; 

By wire he could not words dispatch ; 
He filled his lamp with whale-oil grease, 

And never had a match to scratch. 

But in these days it's come to pass, 
All work is with such dashing done; 

We've all these things — but, then, alas! 
We seem to have no Washington. 



NOVELS. 



He said the world, as time would prove, ' 
Was filled with cunning and with love. 
Just so with novels, for what else 
Is in them all but sheer nonsense? 






^m 



50 



A .BOOK OF POEMS 




A SONG. 

,1 do not ask — dear love — not I, 

A jeweled crown to win, 
Nor robe, nor crown — nor do I cry 
To those that guard the gates on high, 

That they should let me in. 

Oh, when they talk of far-off strands, 

I have no heart to pray; 
So lonely seem those heavenly lands, 
I feel no wish for angel hands 

To wipe my tears away. 

I care not for that joyous throng; 

My soul could never share 
The endless bliss — the happy song. 
How long the days, oh! God, how long! 

If I should miss thee there. 

Nay, love, I only could be blest 

Close by thy side to be, 
To hold thy hand, to lean at rest 
Forever on thy faithful breast — 

That would be heaven for me. 



HAS ITS DRAWBACKS. 

'Tis sweet to wander on the sand, 
And hear the music of the band; 
To fish, remote from vulgar view, 
Catch minnows, and pneumonia too. 
To have your biceps firmly placed 
About a pretty maiden's waist; 
In short, to have a jollier time 
Than can be writ in prose or rhyme; 
But hopes are sadly rent asunder, 
For tbe whole business costs like — thun- 
der. 



LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS 
YOURSELF. 

Each man who lives, the scriptures prove, 

Must, as himself, his neighbor love; 

But though the precept's full of beauty, 

'Tis an impracticable duty: 

I'll prove how hard it is to find 
A lover of this wondrous kind. 




Who loves himself to great excess, 

You'll grant must love his neighbor less; 

Where self engrosses all the heart 

How can another have a part? 

Then if self-love most men enthrall, 
A neighbor's share is very small. 

Say, can the man who hoards up pelf 
E'er love his neighbor as himself? 
For if he did, would he not labor 
To hoard a little for his neighbor? 

Then tell me, friend, can hoarding elves 
E'er love their neighbors as themselves ? 



A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 

Said I, " I know whom I would choose 

Of all the lassies near, 
To be the darling of my heart, 

My lonely life to cheer." 
She answered, "I could also tell 
Which of the lads I love full well." 

Said I, " The maid I'.d choose is fair 

As June's most perfect day, 
And oh ! like yours, in her soft cheek 

The dimples shyly play." 
She answered, "He, to whom I'm true, 
Is — well — a trifle, sir, like you." 

"The maid I love," I quick replied, 

"Is now so near to me 
That if I do but raise my eyes, 

Her own I'm sure to see." 
"And if I do but turn my head 
I'll see the lad I love," she said. 

wondrous joy! my lips grew bold — 

" 'T is you whom I adore ! 
Now show me whom your heart would 
choose, 

And let us jest no more! " 
Said she, " Forgive me if you can, 
But really, sir, you're not the man! " 



MORE THAN ONE. 

To see thy love for more than one 
Has brought thee to be loved by none 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



51 



^ 



BELIEVE ME, LOVE. 

Believe me, love, I sing to you in sleep 
Songs, that if voiced, would waken you 
to pleasure; 
Would you could hear them in your 
dreams, and keep 
Their inner meaning, though you 
missed the measure. 



JULIA AND I. DISAPPOINTMENT. 

'T was but a little hour ago we parted, as 

happy lovers should; 
But when again I sought her presence, 

with impatient haste 
And told her the priest, the altar, all was 

ready; she blushed, she wept, 
And vowed it could not be; that reasons 

of importance to our peace 
Forbade the nuptials rites to be performed 
Before to-morrow. 



THE NEW YORK ALDERMAN. 

He had worked at all vocations, and had 
tried all occupations, 
But was always impecunious and 
"broke;" 
Been a speculating broker, and a funny 
man and joker — 
And his life has been one melancholy 
joke. 

He had been a quack physician, and a 
great trombone musician, 
And had worked upon the sewer for a 
year; 
Been a doctor, lawyer, pastor, and a fa- 
mous dancing master, 
And editor, and scribe, and auctioneer. 

Been a pioneer and scpiatter, and lived on 
bread and water 
While writing for the leading maga- 
zines; 
Been an artist, sculptor, painter, and 
waxed thinner, weaker, fainter, 
On a cultured Boston diet of baked 
beans. 



Tried astrology and magic, been an actor 
fierce and tragic, 
As a traveling organ grinder passed the 
hat; 
Been an African explorer, who would 
talk and talk, and bore yer, 
And had traveled far and wide like 
Daniel Pratt. 

He had been a med'cine mixer, with his 
"Vital Life Elixir,' 1 
And dealt in pellets, purgatives, and 
pills ; 
Been a scientific healer, and a porous 
plaster dealer, 
And could cure all diseases, aches, and 
ills. 

He had run an elevator, been a prestidig- 
itator, 
And the famous bearded woman at the 
show; 
Been a medium and diviner, and a fisher- 
man and miner, 
But in none of these employments 
made a " go." 

But the hero of my ditty settled down in 

New York City, 

Was elected to the aldermanic chair; 

And now he 's sleek and corpulent, and 

very rich and opulent, 

A very great and bloated millionaire! 



WHEN I WEARY GROW, MARY. 

When of your love I weary grow, 
Before I change I '11 tell you on 't; 

Do you the same when you are so, 
And give me time to think upon't, 

So that elsewhere I place my heart, 

Then kindly we '11 shake hands and part. 

Fairly beforehand I declare, 

That when I 'm weary I shall leave; 
Forewarned thus you '11 be aware, 

Whilst falser men would ye deceive; 
Besides in this I nothing do, 
But what I know you will do, too. 



Sbg 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




READ IT. 

Read it, sweet maid, though it be done 

but slightly, 
Who can show all his love doth love but 

lightly. 



FOR A TABLET. 

Here, stranger, rest thee ! from the neigh- 
boring towers 
Of Oxford haply thou hast forced thy 

bark 
Up this strong stream, whose broken wa- 
ters here 
Send pleasant murmurs to the listening 

sense; 
Rest thee beneath this hazel; its green 

boughs 
Afford a grateful shade, and to the eye 
Fair is its fruit. Stranger! the seemly 

fruit 
Is worthless, all is hollowness within, 
For on the grave of Rosamond it grows! 
Young, lovely, and beloved, she fell se- 
duced, 
And here retired to wear her wretched age 
In earnest prayer and bitter penitence, 
Despised, and self-despising: think of her, 
^oung man, and learn to reverence 
womankind. 



TRUE. 



When beggars die there are no comets 
seen. 



THE POCKET HANDKERCHIEF. 

'Tis mine! what accents can my joy de- 
clare? 
Blest be the presence of the thronging 
rout! 
Blest be the hand so hasty of my fair; 
That left the tempting corner hanging 
out! 

I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, 

After long travel to some distant shrine, 

When to the relic of his saint he kneels, 

> r> For Delia's pocket handkerchief is mine. 



When first with filching fingers I drew 
near, 
Keen hope shot tremulous through 
every vein, 
And when the finished deed removed my 
fear, 
Scarce could my bounding heart its joy 
contain. 

What though the eighth commandment 
rose to mind, 
It only served a moment's qualm to 
move, 
For thefts like this it could not be de- 
signed, 
The eighth commandment was not 
made for love. 

Here, when she took the macaroons from 
me, 
She wiped her mouth to clean the 
crumbs so sweet, 
Dear napkin! yes, she wiped her lips on 
thee ! 
Lips sweeter than the macaroons she 
eat. 

And when she took that pinch of Moch- 
abaugh 
That made my love so delicately sneeze, 
Thee to her Roman nose applied, I saw, 
And thou art doubly dear for things 
like these. 

No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, 

Sweet pocket handkerchief! thy worth 

profane ; 

For thou has touched the rubies of my 

fair, 

And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again. 



AN EXPLANATION. 

Her lips were so near 

That — what else could I do? 
You'll be angry, I fear, 
But her lips were so near — 
Well, I can 't make it clear, 

Or explain it to you, 
But — her lips were so near 

That — what else could I do. 



vu 



3a£ 



ri 




WP= 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE INDIFFERENT. 

Never more will I protest 
To love a woman but in jest; 
For as they cannot be true, 
So to give each man his due, 
When the wooing fit it past, 
Their affection cannot last. 

Therefore, if I chance to meet 
With a mistress fair and sweet, 
She my service shall obtain, 
Loving her for love again : 
Thus much liberty I crave, 
Not to be a constant slave. 

But when we have tried each other, 
If she better like another, 
Let her quickly change from me, 
Then to chauge as I am free. 
He or she that loves too long, 
Sells their freedom for a song. 



INCONSTANT CYNTHIA. 

Tell me once, dear, how it does prove 
That I so much foreswore could be? 

I never swore always to love, 
I only vowed still to love thee. 

And art thou now what thou wert then, 

Unsworn unto by other men? 

In thy fair breast and once fair soul, 
I thoughs my vows were writ alone; 

But others' oath so blurred the scroll 
That I no more could read my own. 

And am I still obliged to pay, 

When you had thrown the bond away? 

Nor must we only part in joy, 

Our tears as well must be unkind; 

Weep you, that could such truth destroy, 
And I, that could such falseness find! 

Thus we must unconcerned remain 

In our divided joys and pain. 

Yet we may love, but on this different 

score, 
You what I am, I, what you were before. 




SECRESY PROTESTED. 

Fear not, dear love, that I '11 reveal 
Those hours of pleasure we two steal; 
No eye shall see, nor yet the sun 
Descry what thou and I have done; 
No ear shall hear our love, but we 
Silent as the night will be. 
The god of love himself (whose dart 
Did first wound mine, and then thy heart), 
Shall never know that we can tell 
What sweets in our embraces dwell. 
This only means may find it out: 
If when I die, physicians doubt 
What caused my death, and there to view 
Of all their judgments which was true, 
Rip up my heart, 0, then I fear 
The world will see thy picture there. 



THE GOLDEN LAWS OF LOVE. 

The golden laws of love shall be 

Upon this pillar hung; 
A simple heart, a single eye, 

A true and constant tongue. 

Let no man for more love pretend 
Than he has hearts in store; 

True love begun, shall never end, 
Love one and love no more. 



I HATE A FOOL. 

To some strong place, my camp remove, 

As will no siege abide; 
I hate a fool that starves her love, 

Only to feed her pride. 



A TRAMP WOOD-SAWYER. 

" Now unto yonder wood pile go, 

Where toil till I return; 
And feel how proud a thing it is 

A livelihood to earn." 

A saddened look came o'er the tramp 
He seemed like one bereft. 

He stowed away the victuals cold, 
He — saw the wood, and left. 



^ 






J-)* 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A WISE ANSWER. 

"Bob, why are you always talking to 
yourself?" "For two good reasons: 
When I hear a man talk I like to hear a 
sensible man talk, and when I talk, I like 
to talk to a sensible man." 



I LOVE THE SEX. 

I love the sex and sometimes would re- 
verse 
The tyrant's wish, "that mankind only 

had 
One neck, which he with one fell stroke 

might pierce;" 
My wish is quite as wide, but not so 

bad, 
And much more tender on the whole than 

fierce, 
It being (not now, but only while a 

lad) 
That womankind had but one rosy mouth, 
To kiss them all at once from north to 

south. 



ACROSS THE LOT. 

Do you remember, when we came from 

school 
(You leading me, although not much 

the older), 
How I would skip across the meadow cool, 
Saucily calling backward o'er my 

shoulder, 
"Do as you please, — come on with me or 

not, 
But I am going home across the lot?" 

Away I danced, and you, though left 
alone, 
Pursued the way with face serene and 
smiling, 
Singing beside the road with low, sweet 
tone, 
And still one thought your tender heart 
beguiling; 
Wild though I was, you knew that I 
would wait 
meet and greet you at the garden gate. 




There with a bunch of flowers would I 

stand, 
Or fresh plucked apples, with their 

ripeness blushing, 
Or with a glass of water in my hand, 
Just brought from where the hillside 

spring was gushing. 
Saying, as you bent down to quench your 

thirst: 
"Are you not glad that I am home the 

first?" 

I am dying, sister, start not! well I know 
That day by day my little strength is 
failing; 
Strive not to hold me back for I must 

go;— 

Grod's mighty love, o'er my weak will 
prevailing, 
Frees you from care, and me from pain 

accurst; 
'Tis only that I shall be home the first. 

And, as of old, sweet sister, I will stand, 
Until you come, beside the heavenly 
portal, 
Keeping the fadeless wreath within my 
hand 
With which to crown you with your 
life immortal. 
Others will call me dead, believe them 

not — 
I have only gone home "across the lot." 



DEAR JOHN. 

When ladies sing, or in thy presence play, 
Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away. 



LAST WORDS. 

And when, remembering me, you come 

some day, 
And stand there, speak no praise, but 

only say, 
"How she loved me! It was for that she 

was so dear!" 
These are the only words that I shall 

smile to hear. , 

M 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




POLONIUS' ADVICE TO HIS SON. 

Give thy thoughts no tongue, 

Nov any unproportion'd thought his act. 

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 

Those friends thou hast, and their adop- 
tion tried, 

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of 
steel ; 

But do not dull thy palm with entertain- 
ment 

Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. 

Beware of entrance to a quarrel; but be- 
ing in, 

Bear it, that thy opposed may beware of 
thee. 

Give every man thy ear, but few thy 
voice; 

Take each man's censure; but reserve thy 
judgment. 

Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 

But not express'd in fancy; rich not 
gaudy; 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be: 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend; 

And borrowing dulls the edge of hus- 
bandry. 

This above all, to thine ownself be true: 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou can'st not then be false to any man. 

Farewell; my blessing season this in thee. 



PANSIES. 



I send thee pansies while the year is 
young, 
Yellow as sunshine, purple as the night; 
Flowers of remembrance ever fondly 
sung 
By all the chief est of the sons of light; 
And if in recollection lives regret 

For wasted days and dreams that were 
not true, 
I tell thee that the " pansy freaked with 
jet," 
Is still the heart's-ease that the poets 
knew. 
Take all the sweetness of a gift unsought, 
And for the pansies send me back a 
thought. 




WOMAN'S HEART. 

God's angels took a drop of dew 

Fresh fallen from the heaven's far-off 

blue, 
And a white violet so pure and bright, 
Shedding its fragrance in the morn's soft 

light; 
And a forget-me-not laid out of sight 
Within the chalice of a lily white. 
With humbleness and grace they covered 

it, 
Made purity and sadness near to sit, 
And added pride to this, and fears a few, 
One wish, but half a hope, and bright 

tears, too, 
Courage and sweetness in misfortune's 

smart, 
And out of this they molded woman's 

heart. 



WEDDED. 



Some quick and bitter words we said, 
And then we parted. How the sun 
Swam through the sullen mist of gray! 
A chill fell on the summer day, 

Life's best and happiest hours were 
done; 
Friendship was dead. 

How proud we went our separate ways, 

And spake no word and made no "moan! 
She braided up her flowing hair, 
That I had always called so fair, 

Although she scorned my loving tone, 
My word of praise. 

And I! — I matched her scorn with scorn; 

I hated her with all my heart, 
Until — we chanced to meet one day; 
She turned her pretty head away; 

I saw two pretty tear-drops start, 
Lo! love was born. 



Some fond, repenting word I said, 
She answered only with a sigh; 

But when I took her hand in mine 

A radiant glory, half divine, 

Flooded the earth and filled the sky 
Now we are wed. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




JUDGE NOT. 

How do we know what hearts have vilest 

sin? 

How do we know? 
Many, like sepulchers, are foul within, 
Whose outward garb is spotless as the 

snow; 
And many may be pure we think not so. 
How near to God the souls of such have 

been, 
What mercy secret penitence way win — 
How do we know? 

How can we tell who sinned more than 

we? 

How can we tell? 
We think our brother walked guiltily, 
Judging him in self-righteousness. Ah, 

well! 
Perhaps, had we been driven through the 

hell 
Of his untold temptations, we might be 
Less upright in our daily walk than he — 
How can we tell? 

Dare we condemn the ills that others do? 

Dare we condemn? 
Their strength is small, their trials not a 

few, 
The tide of wrong is difficult to stem —* 
And if to us more clearly than to them 
Is given knowledge of the great and true, 
More do they need our help and pity too — 

Dare we condemn? 



IF LOVE BUT ONE SHORT HOUR. 

If love but one short hour had perfect 

sway, 
How many a rankling sore its touch 

would heal, 
How many a misconception pass away, 
And hearts long hardened learn at last 

to feel: 
What sympathies would wake, what feuds 

decay, 
If perfect love might reign but one short 

day. 



AN OLD RHYME. 

I dare not ask a kiss, 

1 dare not beg a smile, 
Lest having that or this, 

I might grow proud the while. 
No, no; the utmost share 

Of my desire shall be 
Only to kiss the air 

That lately kissed thee. 



REST. 



When thou art weary of the world and 
leaning 

Upon my breast, 
My soul would show to thine its hidden 
meaning, 

And thou shalt rest. 

When thou art eagerly but vainly aim- 
ing 

At some far end, 
Thou knowest not thy pining and com- 
plaining 

Have pierced thy friend. 

My presence is around thee and about 
thee, 

Thou dost not know — 
But if thou knewest, thou wouldst not 
doubt me, 

I love thee so. 



I BELIEVE. SARAH. 

I believe if I were dead, 
And you upon my lifeless heart should 

tread, — 
Not knowing what the poor clod 

chanced to be, — 
It would find sudden pulse beneath the 

touch 
Of her it ever loved in life so much, 
And throb again, warm, tender, true to 

thee. 



DELAY. 



Disposed to wed e'en while you hasten, 

stay,— 
There 's great advantage in a small delay, 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



=8^ 
57 



DRINK. 

If you will drink, — get very drunk; and 

when 
You wake with headache, you shall see 

what then. 


BEAUTY AND LOVE. 

Both beauty and love 's the reward of the 

brave, 
And man must deserve it before he can 

crave. 



A KISS IN THE RAIN. 

One stormy morn I chanced to meet 

A lassie in the town; 
Her locks were like the ripened wheat, 

Her laughing eyes were brown. 
I watched her as she tripped along, 

Till madness filled my brain, 
And then — and then — I knew 't was 
wrong — 

I kissed her in the rain. 

With rain-drops shining on her cheek, 

Like dew-drops on a rose, 
The little lassie strove to speak, 

My boldness to oppose; 
She strove in vain, and quivering, 

Her fingers stole in mine; 
And then the birds began to sing, 

The sun began to shine. 

0, let the clouds grow dark above, 

My heart is light below; 
'T is always summer when we love, 

However winds may blow; 
And I 'm as proud as any prince, 

All honors I disdain; 
She says I am her rain-beau since 

I kissed her in the rain. 



'T IS NO SIN. 



'T is no sin love's fruit to steal, 
But the sweet theft to reveal: 
To be taken, to be seen, 
These have crimes accounted been. 




A TEMPERANCE LECTURE. 

Drink to me only with thine eyes; 

And I will pledge with mine; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I '11 not look for wine. 



THE MOTHER SAID. 

Ah, sir, we are not rich or great, 
The owners of vast estate, 

The mother said: 
But we have better far than gold, 
Contentment, and a little fold 
As full of love as it can hold, 

And daily bread. 



CONSTANCY. 



But years may come and go, and yet 
We shall not learn the word forget. 
Within my breast thine image pressed, 
Hath undisturbed and sacred rest; 
For, oh, sweetheart, there cannot be 
A day for my forgetting thee! 

And as through life we pass along 
Nor heed its ill, but hate its wrong, 
And feel that time, nor land, nor sea, 
Can shake the faith I have in thee; 
While, darling, oft that love of thine 
Makes stronger still this love of mine. 



I SOMETIMES WONDER. 

I sometimes wonder if heaven will be 
A place of distinction 'tween wealth 
and worth, 
And will they ask, o'er the crystal sea, 
How many thousands we owned on 
earth. 



UNDER THE MOONLIGHT. 

Under the moonlight, side by side, 

Two hearts as one on the shining shore. 

Oh! heaven is far and the world is wide! 

But we are together, — what need we 

more? 










5S 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




WOMAN. 

Now how can I thy words believe, 
When even God thou did'st deceive. 



WOMAN MAY ERR. 

Woman may err, woman may give her 
mind 
To evil thoughts, and lose her pure es- 
tate; 
But for one Avoman who affronts her kind 
By wicked passions and remorseless 
hate, 
A thousand make amends in age and 
youth, 
By heavenly pity and sweet sympathy, 
By patient kindness, by enduring truth, 
By love supremest in adversity. 



THE KISS 



1 could endure your eye, although it shot 

Lightning at first into me: 
Your voice, although it charmed mine ear, 
had not 

The power to undo me: 
But while I on your lip would dwell, 
My ravished heart leaped from his cell, 
For looking back into my breast, 
I found that room without a guest. 

Return the heart you stole thus with a 
kiss, 

When last our lips did join: 
Or I '11 forgive the theft, to change a bliss, 

And have your heart for mine. 
I ne'er till now believed it truth, 
That lover's hearts were at their mouth; 
Now by experience I may say, 
That men may kiss their hearts away. 



READ YE. 




Read, ye that run, the awful truth 
With which I charge my page ! 

A worm is in the bud of youth; 
And at the root of age. 



PRITHEE, MADAM 

Prithee, madam, what are you, 
That you accept with scorning, 

Love that is honorable, true, 

And constant night and morning, 

Exacting it as beauty's due? 

Beauty lures, but love must bind, 
And beauty's long unkindness, 

Although that love were ten times blind, 
Cures him of his blindness, — 

Gives him back his lucid mind. 

Though love, it seems, less pleases you 

Than admiration endless, 
You '11 find in such a retinue 

Much that is cold and friendless, 
Flatterers many — lovers few. 

With these I neither sigh nor weep, 

I only give you warning, 
That for the future you must keep 

For some one else your scorning — 
I 'm sick of it. Good morning. 



DARING. 



He, that kills himself to avoid misery 
fears it, 

And at the best shows but a bastard val- 
or. 

This life 's a fort committed to my trust, 

Which I must not yield up till it be 
forced; 

Nor will I: he's not valiant that dares to 
die, 

But he that boldly and innocently dares 
so live. 



THE DEVIL. 



A lady drove by in her pride, 

In whose face an expression he spied, 

For which he could have kissed her; 
Such a flourishing fine clever creature 

was she, 
With an eye as wicked as wicked can be: 
"I should take her for my aunt," said he, 

If my mother had had a sister." 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



59 



I LOVED A LASS. 

I loved a lass, a fair one, 

As fair as e'er was seen; 
She was indeed a rare one, 

Another Sheba queen; 
But, fool as then I was, 

I thought she loved me, too; 
But now, alas! she 's left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

To maidens' vows and swearing, 

Henceforth no credit give, 
You may give them the hearing, 

But never them believe; 
They are as false as fair, 

Inconstant, frail, untrue, 
For mine, alas! hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

'T was I that paid for all things, 

'Twas others drank the wine; 
I cannot now recall things, 

Live but a fool to pine. 
'T was I that beat the bush, 

The bird to others flew; 
For she, alas ! hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 

No riches now can raise me, 

No want make me despair; 
No misery amaze me, 

Nor yet for want I care: 
I have lost a world itself, 

My earthly heaven, adieu! 
Since she, alas! hath left me, 

Falero, lero, loo. 



REVENGE IN CRIME. 

Thank God! that I have lived to see the 
time 
When the great truth begins at last to 

find 
An utterance from the deep heart of 
mankind, 
Earnest, and clear, that all revenge is 

crime! 
That man is holier than a creed, — that all 
Restraint upon him must consult his 
good, 
Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall, 
And love look in upon his solitude. 

3fe 



MIRIAM TRUE. 

Miriam True! Miriam True! 

But for the faith I have in you, 

Life would be weary, solemn and dreary, 

Shorn of its sunshine, its blossoms and 
dew. 

Maidens I meet who are vain .of their 
beauty — 

Selfish, unkiud, and neglectful of duty; 

Eager to shine, and regardless of trouble 

If they can seize any bauble or bubble; 

Gayly and daily their light game pur- 
suing, 

Onward they rush to a bitter undoing; 

Butterfly creatures, in foolish fields 
gleaning, 

Life has for them no deep purpose or 
meaning; 

And my rejoicings I daily renew 

That you 're not like them, dear Miriam 
True. 

Miriam True! Miriam True! 

But for the love that I have for you 

I should find sorrow to-day and to-mor- 
row, 

Turning my life to the blackest hue. 

Loving you so, all my labors grow 
lighter; 

Trusting you so, every prospect seems 
brighter. 

Warmly within me the heart-fires burn, 

Since I am trusted and loved in return. 

'Tis not your beauty awakes my devo- 
tion, 

'Tis not your face moves the tides of 
love's ocean, 

'Tis not your voice, though 'tis rap- 
ture to hear it, 

'T is not your form, though I joy to be 
near it; 

But, for the loyalty vested in you, 

I am your captive, dear Miriam True. 



ONLY FRIENDS. 

For though we are but friends, you know 
'tis hard for friends to part, 

And if farewell I 'm forced to say, 't is 
with an aching heart. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A PULL BACK. 

A little pullback sought one day 

The gates of Paradise; 
Saint Peter wiped his spectacles, 

And rubbed his ancient eyes. 

And throngs of female angels came 
With curious gaze the while, 

Intent, as ladies always are, 
To see the latest style. 

The saint put on his glasses, then 
An observation took; 
"What, what!" he said, "this traverses 
The laws of ' mustn't look. 1 

"Tied up in front! piled up behind! 
'T will never do I fear ! 
The thing is too ridiculous — 
You cannot enter here." 

What did she do? my curious friend, 

She got behind a tree, 
And in a jiffy she was dressed 

As angels ought to be. 

Saint Peter kissed her then, and said: 

"Pass in, my little dear; 
But mind, you must not introduce 
Such naughty fashions here." 



I DID N'T MEAN TO TELL YOU. 

Yes, my lips to-night have spoken 

Words I said they should not speak, 
And I would I could recall them — 

Would I had not been so weak. 
0, that one unguarded moment 

Were it mine to live again, 
All the strength of its temptation 

Would appeal to me in vain. 

True, my lips have only uttered 

What is ever in my heart: 
I am happy when beside you, 

Wretched when we are apart. 
Though I listen to your praises 

Always longer than I should, 
Yet my heart can never hear them 

Half as often as it would. 




And I would not, could not, pain you- 

Would not for the world offend; 
I would have you know I like you 

As a brother, as a friend. 
But I meant to keep one secret 

In my bosom always hid, 
For I never meant to tell you 

That I loved you — but I did. 



DEAD LOVE. 

We are face to face, and between us here, 
Is the love we thought could never die; 

Why has it only lived a year? 
Who has murdered it — you or I? 



THE HINDOO'S DEATH. 

A Hindoo died; a happy thing to do 
When fifty years united to a shrew; 
Released, he hopefully for entrance cries 
Before the gates of Brahma's paradise. 
"Hast been through purgatory?" Brah- 
ma said. 
"I have been married!" and he hung his 

head. 
" Come in ! come in ! and welcome to my 

son! 
Marriage and Purgatory are as one." 
In bliss extreme he entered Heaven's door, 
And knew the bliss he ne'er had known 
before. 

He scarce had entered in the garden fair, 

Another Hindoo asked admission there. 

The self-same question Brahma asked 
again : 

"Hast been through Purgatory? " "No; 
what then? " 

"Thou canst not enter," did the god re- 
ply- 

"He that went in was there no more 
than I." 

"All that is true, but he has married been, 

And so on earth has suffered for his sin." 

"Married? 'Tis well, for I've been mar- 
ried twice." 

"Begone ! We '11 have no fools in Para- 
dise." 

^1 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



61 






THE ROYAL GUEST. 

They tell me I am shrewd with other 
men; 
With thee I'm slow and difficult of 
speech, 
With others I may guide the car of talk, 
Thou wiug'st it oft to realms beyond 
mv reach. 



If other guests should come, I'd deck my 
hair, 
And choose my newest garment from 
the shelf; 
When thou art bidden, I would clothe 
my heart 
With holiest purpose, as for God him- 
self. 

friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb, — 
Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine; 

My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart 
Springs forth to measure its faint pulse 
with thine. 

Thou art to me most like a royal guest, 
Whose travels bring him to some lowly 
roof, 
Where simple rustics spread their festal 
fare, 
And, blushing, own it is not good 
enough. 

Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st 
to me, 
From high emprise and noble toil to 
rest, 
My tb oughts are weak and trivial, 
matched with thine; 
But the poor mansion offers thee its 
best. 



I AM NOT MAD. 



I am not mad; — I would to Heaven I 
were ! 

For then, 'tis like 1 should forget my- 
self; 

0, if I could, what grief I should for- 
get! 



ONLY A PRETTY FACE. 

Fond of her looking-glass, 

Fond of the vainest show, 
With no heart to feel for another's weal, 

Or pity another's woe. 
Ah, sad is the lot of those 

Who take to their heart's embrace 
One whom they find has no depth of mind, 

And only a pretty face. 



PROPHESY. 




Some time you will look back to these 
bright days 

With tearful eyes, 
And think of all our quiet, happy ways 

With sobs and sighs. 
You will remember how we read or talked 

In this dear room ; 
Or, summer evenings, how we rode or 
walked 

Thro' fragrant gloom. 

Sometimes alone, or in a busy throng, 

Again will ring, 
Soft, clear and sweet, an echo of some 
song 

We used to sing; 
And oft, awake or sleeping, you '11 recall 

This cosy room — 
Books, music, e'en the pictures on the 
wall, 

And the flowers in bloom. 

You will remember every tender word 

You've said to me. 
The knowledge that you've spoken no 
harsh word 

Will comfort thee. 
Sometimes you'll weep and pray, but all 
in vain — 

As far you roam, 
For one short hour to rest from grief and 
pain 

In this sweet home. 

Dear heart, I grieve that I must leave thee 
here 

To walk alone; 
But sometime we will find each other 
there 

Around the throne. 




*J 









62 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



O ^ 



THE FUTURE YEARS. 

The future years — ah ! who can say 
Which of us two will pass away 
From earthly hope and love for aye, 

From all that faith endears? 
I only breathe a prayer for thee, 
That where I am there thou mayst be 

Thro 1 all the future years. 



CHARACTERISTICS. 

A kind Providence has given us two 
eyes, and but one tongue; and the infer- 
ence is, that we should see twice as much 
as we say. 



AFTER THE AMATEUR PLAY. 

All 's over now. It was a great success, 
Our honest villain did the best he could; 

Took pains and plodded through his 
wickedness — 
He 's really very good. 

And when he drove the lady to despair 
With darkly scowling threats and 
feigned alarms, 

I rushed upon the stage, defied him there, 
And clasped her in my arms! 

They called us back. The laughing plaud- 
its swelled 
To welcome us. That moment was 
divine — 
The token of my triumph — as I held 
My darling's hand in mine. 

I seemed to feel her happy pulses beat 
.[] As mine were beating in my joy and 

pride; 
I trod the whole world underneath my feet 
Since she was by my side! 

And then — why, as we passed I overheard 
A^ hurried whisper, caught a meaning 
smile ; 
Enough! — it was the villain she pre- 
ferred — 
The villain all the while! 




She did not know with my whole heart I 
played; 
She thought I acted well the part, no 
doubt ! 
If love came stealing through the mas- 
querade, 
How should she find him out? 

She did not know, God bless her in her 
choice! 
( Aye, and the villain, too ! ) No thought 
of blame 
Shall ever lend its hardness to my voice, 
When I would speak her name. 

There will be other plays in coming years, 
When this is half forgotten; there will 
be 
New scenes, new dresses, and new hopes 
and fears — 
But this old play for me ! 



PARTING. 



I cannot blame thee though thy love has 
faded, 
Silent my soul shall bear its hopeless 
pain ; 
But still my love remains, although un- 
aided, 
Still in its grief shall hope for love 
again. 

For in my heart the hope thy love had 
given 
Shines bright and pure, although its 
sun is gone; 
It cheers my darkness with a glance of 
heaven, 
And lights my pathway when I walk 
alone. 

Yes, when declining shadows gather o'er 
me, 
Strong e'en in death my soul will know 
thy spell; 
One thought of thee will light the gloom 
before me, 
When joy or grief shall say the word — 
Farewell. ~ % 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



63 



Q 



THEATRE. 

A place where dancing sybils wear tight 
pantalettes, 

And fill immoral heads with luscious pirou- 
ettes ; 

Where one base scene will turn more souls 
to shame 

Than ten good moral lectures can reclaim. 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 

He that buys what he does not want, 
will soon want what he cannot buy. 



A LOVE QUARREL. 

That scornful word, how soon 't was said ! 
That sligbt revenged, when none was 
given ! 
Then swift the tongue's sharp arrows 
sped, 
At which, through twined hearts deep- 
ly driven, 
Sweet love in terror fled. 

Much tried he me, my bosom's lord, 
Suspecting that and hinting this; 
I raged; taunts Avhich my heart abhorred 
When spoke, I launched, no point to 
miss, 
And stabbed him with each word. 

Perchance those hasty woi'ds regret 

Would fain recall — each haughty look: 
Patient his wish I might have met; 
There! the gate clicked — doth he yet 
brook 
Love's toils, love's gilded net? 

My heart's love comes — 'twere wise to 
pout; 
A girl with spirit should behave; 
And yet, methinks, I might him flout, 
Till love withdrew the boon it gave, 
And coldness followed doubt. 

The door opes — up perplexed I start; 

Timid, yet confident, he stands; 
Begone, distrust; no more apart 

Should lovers dwell — I seize his hands, 
And nestle next his heart. 




A PLACE IN THY HEART. 

To-night, sweetheart, when with the gay, 

Whose bosoms throb with wild delight; 
When on thee pleasure's smiles shall play, 

And lip and brow with joy are bright; 
When round thee music softly swells, 

And fragrant flowers charm the sense, 
And all unite with their sweet spells 

To banish cafe and trouble thence, 
This love, is all I ask of thee — 
The first place in thy heart for me ! 

If other eyes gaze into thine, 

And other voices reach thine ear, 
Wilt thou not see this look of mine, 

And these endearing pledges hear? 
And think me near thee in the throng, 

And feel that absence cannot change, 
Nor novel scenes and distance long 

Shall in our bosoms truth estrange? 
Yes, love, 't is all I ask of thee — 
The first place in thy heart for me! 

Go, darling, go! and with thee bear 

My hopes and love, a sacred trust; 
Where'er thou art, I know that there, 

To them and me thou wilt be just, 
Whilst I, of thee, my life and pride, 

Shall dream through all the gliding 
night, 
And be in spirit at thy side 

To share the spell of thy delight. 
And find thy heart — sweet mystery — 
Had place for none — for none but me! 



MARRIED. 



I 'm married and happy, now do you hear 
this, 

You men who were never engaged? 
Invest all your funds in conjugal bliss, 

'Tis the best paying stock of the age. 



PARTING. 



Farewell, I leave, nor seek your love, 
Nor ask your friendship more. 

The happiness that I approve 
Is not within your power. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A BABY. 

A coupou due to a marriage bond; pay- 
able nine months after contract, and re- 
ceived without protest. 



COULDN'T KEEP A SECRET. 

I told my secret to the sweet wild roses, 
Beavy with dew, new waking in the 
morn; 
And they had breathed it to a thousand 
others 
Before another day was slowly born. 
" Oh, fickle roses," said I, " you shall per- 
ish!" 
So plucked them for my lady sweet to 
wear 
In the pure silence of her maiden bosom, 
The curled luxuriance of her chestnut 
hair. 

I told the secret to a bird new building 
Her nest at peace within the spreading 
tree, 
And e'er her children had begun to chat- 
ter, 
She told it o'er and o'er right joyously. 
"Oh traitor bird," I whispered, "stay thy 
singing, 
Thou dost not know, there in thy nest 
above, 
That secrets are not made to tell to 
others, 
That silence is the birthright of true 
love." 

I told the secret to my love, my lady; 

She held it closely to her darling breast. 
Then as I clasped her came a tiny whis- 
per : 
"The birds and flowers told me all the 

rest, i 

Nor should'st thou chide them that they 
spake the secret; 
The whole world is a chord of love di- 
vine, 
And birds and flowers but fulfill their 









mission 
In telling secrets sweet as mine and 
thine." 



IF YOU WANT A KISS, WHY 
TAKE IT. 

There's a jolly Saxon proverb 

That is pretty much like this, — 
That a man is half in Heaven 

If he has a woman's kiss. 
There is danger in delaying, 

For the sweetness may forsake it; 
So I tell you, bashful lover, 

If you want a kiss, why, take it. 

Never let another fellow 

Steal a march on you in this; 
Never let a laughing maiden 

See you spoiling for a kiss. 
There 's a royal way to kissing, 

And the jolly ones who make it 
Have a motto that is winning, — 

If you want a kiss, why, take it. 

Any fool may face a cannon, 

Anybody wear a crown, 
But a man must win a woman 

If he 'd have her for his own. 
Would you have the golden apple, 

You must find the tree and shake'it; 
If the thing is worth the having, 

And you want a kiss, why take it. 

Who would burn upon a desert 

With a forest smiling by? 
Who would change his sunny summer 

For a bleak and wintry sky? 
Oh, I tell you there is magic, 

And you can not, can not break it 
For the sweetest part of loving, 

Is to want a kiss, and take it. 



NEVER: HARDLY EVER. 

"And when Hippomenes casts down 
His golden apples, is there ever 

A chance for love to reach the goal?" 
With saucy smile she answered, 
"Never!" 

I rose to go — she took my hand 

( 0, fate, you ne'er that clasp can sever ! ) 
And, "Stay," she said, with sudden 

blush, — 
" You know that I meant — hardlv ev< 





w 





GENEVIEVE. 




C 



~o< 



^ 



66 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P) 



WHO, LOOKING BACKWARD. 

Who, looking backward from his man- 
hood's prime, 
Sees not the spectre of his misspent time? 



IF WE HAD ONLY KNOWN. 

There passed a day, remembered mourn- 
fully, 
The day when last a long-loved one I 
met, 
Sun rays seemed all aglow, streaked fit- 
fully 
With rose and violet. 
And southward on the billows, tall and 
wide, 
White sails were glancing, as weird 
shadows fall; * 

Silence around save as the rising tide 
Low whispered — that was all. 

We watched white clouds drift eastward 
o'er the sky, 
Edged with a fringe of gold in the sun's 
flush; 
From those my gaze met his; love in his 
eye,^ 
I readj'twixt frown and blush. 
" Sweet, name the day," he said; " I love 

thee well." 
"I cannot!" was my answer, strange to 

say. 
I loved him — yet perverseness made me 
tell 
My patient lover, " Nay." 

"Darling, my ship sails soon. Oh, be 
mine own! 
Go with me on this voyage, to be my 
last." 
"I'will not!" then a breath of hay, new- 
mown, 
From landward floated past. 
Since_then the scent of new hay comes to 
me 
Laden with thoughts of all that might 
have been, 
Had I but known, and answered differ- 
ently 
To'what I answered then. 




Alone he sailed. I went to meet the ship 
When she came in — while questions 

multiplied, 
One only answer left each seaman's lip: 
"Far out at sea he died! " 
He died. I was not by him! Died at sea! 
No woman's hand to soothe! He died 
alone ! 
Beneath the waves they hid my love ! Ah, 
me! 
Had I that day but known! 

Now, when alone I walk upon the shore, 
Or smell the pine-woods, and the new- 
mown hay. 
For him I sigh — sigh vainly ! Then once 
more 
In tears I turn away! 
As on I hasten, white waves mutter low: 
"Hadst thou but known (there was no 

cause to part!) 
More kind thou wouldst have been, then 
this great woe 
Had broken not thy heart." 

Ah ! could we but tell what one short day 
will bring, 
Could we but know when parting with 
a friend 
We would not meet again, kindness would 
cling 
To each word without end. 
We would not fitful be when with our 

own; 
, Fondness in parting we would not for- 
get— 
We so would live, the words, "Hadst thou 
but known," 
Would bring us no regret. 



FACTS. 



The greatest pleasure of life is love; 
the greatest treasure, a true friend; the 
greatest possession, health; the greatest 
ease, sleep; and the greatest medicine, con- 
tentment. A firm faith is the best di- 
vinity; a good life, the best philosophy; 
a clear conscience, the best law; honesty, 
the best policy; and temperance, the best 
physic. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THANK HER THEN. 

Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, 

And waste in briny tears thy days? 
'Cause she, that wont to flout and rail, 
At last gave proof of woman's ways; 
She did in sooth, display the heart 
That might have wrought the greater 
smart. 

Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; 

Let others guard their careless heart, 
And praise the day that thus made known 
The faithless hold on woman's art; 
Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, 
And bless thyself that art so freed. 



ANY ONE WILL DO. 

A maiden once, of certain age, 
To catch a husband did engage; 
But having passed the prime of life 
In striving to become a wife 
Without success, she thought it time 
To mend the follies of her prime. 

Depai'ting from the usual course 
Of paint and such like for resource, 
With all her might, this ancient maid 
Beneath an oak tree knelt and prayed; 
Unconcious that a grave old owl 
Was perched above — the mousing fowl! 

" Oh, give! a husband give! " she cried, 
"While yet I may become a bride; 
Soon will my day of grace be o'er, 
And then, like many maids before, 
I'll die without an early love, 
And none to meet me there above! 

"Oh, 'tis a fate too hard to bear! 
Then answer this, my humble prayer, 
And oh, a husband give to me," 
Just then the owl from out the tree, 
In deep bass tones cried, " Who — Who — 

who!" 
" Why any one, good Lord, will do ! " 



I REJECT. 



For my part I reject the tales 

Which faith suggests when reason fails. 



IF I SHOULD DIE, SARAH. 

I believe if I should die, 

And you should kiss my eyelids where I 

lie 
Cold, dead, and dumb to all the world 

contains, 
And from its exile in the Isles of Death, 
Life would come gladly back along my 

veins. 



THE LAND I LOVE. 

Where the butchers have such a plenty 

of hogs, 
That they do n't make sausage out of 

their dogs. 



SUCH A DUCK. 

Once Venus, deeming Love too fat, 

Stopped all his rich, ambrosial dishes, 
Dooming the boy to live on chat, — 

To sup on songs and dine on wishes. 
Love, lean and lank, flew off to prowl, — 

The starveling now no beauty 
boasted, — 
He could have munched Minerva's owl, 

Or Juno's peacock, boiled or roasted. 

At last, half famished, almost dead, 

He shot his mother's doves for dinner; 
Young Lilla, passing, shook her head, — 
Cried Love: "A shot at you, young sin- 
ner!" 
" Oh, not at me! " she urged her flight — 
" I 'm neither dove, nor lark, nor star- 

ling!;' 
"No," fainting Cupid cried, "not quite; 
But then — you 're such a duck, — my 
darling!" 



CHARMS. TASTES DIFFER. 

Though a squaw has charms for her rus 
set beau, 

She has passing few for you and me. 
And Eden, devoid of a pretty face, 

Would a cheerless Eden be. 



r-P 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




SOME SWEET STARS 
SHINING. 



ARE 



Lady, some sweet stars are shining 

O'er my lonely way, 
In my spirit's depth enshrining 

Friendship's purest ray; 
Pouring beams of heaven's own gladness 

O'er my life's dark sea — 
Lady, mid those radiant star-gems 

Is a home for thee. 



THE WHITE AND RED. 

You ask me why I look so sad; 

Ah ! you should know my lady fair! 
I asked you for a blossom bright, 

Of two you held both rich and rare — 
As if to smite my faint hope dead 
You gave the white and not the red! 

Ah! why these blushes, pretty one? 

Though dwelling amid sunny bowers 
It may be you have never learned 

The silent language of the flowers; 
The perfumed words that mean so much 
To love's keen sense of hue and touch? 

It may be that you bear for me 
A dawning love so slight and faint 

It lacketh color, like the rose 

That droops so low — a snowy saint — 

And so, here in the morning light, 

You keep the red and give me the white ! 

Cheer up my heart! with deeper blush 
She lays within my eager hand 

A tender little crimson bud, 

And drops the red rose on the sand. 

The bud shall bloom when we' are wed! 

So blessing on the white and red. 




WHERE FALL THE TEARS. 

Where fall the dews of love the rose ap- 
pears, 

And where the ground is wet with friend- 
ship's tears 

Forget-me-nots and violets, heavenly blue, 

Spring, glittering with cheerful drops 
like dew. 



TOO GREAT A SACRIFICE. 

The maid, as by the papers doth appear, 

Whom fifty thousand dollars made so 
dear, 

To test Lothario's passion, simply said: 

"Forego the weed before we go to wed; 

For smoke take flame; I '11 be that flame's 
bright fanner; 

To have your doxie give up your Hav- 
ana." 

But he, when thus she brought him to 
the scratch, 

Lit his cigar and threw away his match. 



HER LIKENESS. 

A girl who has so many willful ways 
She would have caused Job's patience 
to forsake him ; 
Yet is so rich in all that's girlhood's 

praise, 
Did Job himself upon her goodness gaze, 
A little better she would surely make 
him. 



UNFULFILLED. 

I have dear friends whose ways run with 
mine own, 
Who share my smiles and tears; . 
Strong friends, who wait at every stum- 
bling stone 
And chide me for my fears; 
Sweet friends, who trusting, put their 
hearts in mine, 
Nor claim their own again; 
Departed friends, whose memory turns to 
wine 
Each bitter spring of pain. 

But there was one I never called my 
friend, 

One who but came and went, 
Whose life was molded to a separate end, 

With mine in nothing blent; 
And yet, when darkness closes round my 
way 

And hides the distant shore, 
I know that there must rise a longer day 

That we may meet once more. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



SPECULATION. 

Of all speculations the market holds forth, 

The best that I know, for a lover of pelf, 

Is to buy "Johnny" up, for the price he 

is worth, 

And then sell him out, what he asks 

for himself. 



ALL FOR GOLD. 

Long, long ago, 

In the time of flowers, 
Golden shone the summer glow, 

Golden-sweet the hours. 
Ah! the softly whispering! 
Ah! the rapture of the meeting! 
Rapture, which was all too fleeting, 
Then was ours. 

Still we meet, still we meet 

As we met of old; 
But your glance is absent — fleet; 

Strange you are and cold. 
Ay, and I have heard it said, 
Ere the autumn leaves are dead, 
You an ancient maid will wed, 
All for gold! 

All for gold, all for gold, 

You, our love forgot; 
Yet, though left for spinster old, 

I accept my lot — 
Yielding up affection's claim, 
Speaking not a word of blame, 
Knowing well I'd do the same — 
Doubt it not! 

Fare thee well, fare thee well — 

All the past is o'er! 
Other lips will surely tell 

What you told before. 
Other's words are just as sweet, 
Other's love is more complete; 
Yours was but flirtation's heat — 
Nothing more. 



OBSTINACY. 



'T is better far to own your errors past, 
Than cling to notions that are wrong at 





THIS LESSON. 

Misses! the tale that I relate, 
This lesson seems to carry — 

Choose not alone a proper mate, 
But proper time to marry. 



OUR WORLD OF LONG AGO. 

! happy hours when first we knew 
We loved each other — you and I; 

There was no truth then half so true 
As — love can never die. 

To live was joy, and at our feet 

The world lay fair as world could be; 

No poet's dream was half so sweet 
As life to you and me! 

0! loved one, were yon changing glow 
That fills the west, our sign to-day, 

Our golden world of long ago 
Would fade and pass away. 

But not to yonder dark'ning sky, 

We, faithless, turn our fate to know; 

We find in true hearts — you and I — 
Our world of long ago. 



MARRIAGE. 



How often we see in our progress 
through life, where the affections are not 
properly secured before-hand, that those 
who marry where they do not love, are 
sure to love where they do not marry. 



ONLY. 



And this is the end of it all ! it rounds 

the year's completeness; 
Only a walk to the stile, through fields 

afoam with sweetness; 
Only the sunset light, purple and red on 

the river, 
And a lingering, low good night, that 

means good-bye forever. 





A EO.OK OF POEMS 




KINDNESS. 

Some kind act toward the race of men, 
May toss us into boundless heav'n again. 



KNOWLEDGE. 

Knowledge is a commodity, the demand 
for which is always greater than the 
supply. 



LIVING. 



Judge a man by his good deeds, and he 
has lived long enough; judge him by his 
evil deeds, he has lived too long; but 
judge him by his own desires, and he will 
never die. 



UNLESS YOU LOVE. 

" Last night, in the orchard, mother dear, 
There was somebody spoke to me, 
And though they were only whispered 
words, 
They were sweet as a melody. 
'Will you marry me, Kitty, love? 1 he 
said; 
' Will you be my own dear wife ? ' 
Shall I answer l Yes,' or answer ' No? ' 
Can I trust him with all my life ? " 

" Unless you can trust yourself, my child, 

To do all of a woman's part, 
And unless you are sure as sunrise 

That you 've given him all your heart, 
Do n't trust him with all your life, Kitty, 

For a husband will give to you 
The measure of love you give to him, 

Can you ask for more than your due? 

" Love is n't all sunshine and song, dear, 
Love isn't a smile and a kiss; 
A whisper sweet in the orchard way 

And a promise of perfect bliss. 
Love has hours of bitterest sorrow, 

He will try you with careful fears, 
He will give you to eat of his bitter 
bread, 

n And to drink of his cup of tears. 

dr . 




" So unless you are sure of your heart, 
dear, 
And unless you can understand, 
That whether the day be good or bad, 
You must walk with him hand in 
hand; 
Unless you can silently bear, dear, 
And can pardon what none should 
know, 
And love, when loving is only pain, 
You had better answer him ' No.' 

" But still if you 're sure you love him, 
dear, 
And can stand by him as a wife 
Should stand by a husband fond and 
true, 
You may trust him with all your life. 
For love makes easy the hardest lot, 

Turns every sorrow to bliss; 
So if he loves you and you love him, 
Go whisper the yes with a. kiss." 



LOVE HATH WOVE A GARLAND. 

Lady, love hath wove a garland 

'Round this heart of mine, 
Friendship brings a few fair blossoms 

In the wreath to twine. 
They are more than all the'jewels 

Earth could give to me — 
Lady, here, within that garland, 

Is a place for thee. 



CANDIDATES. 

How many candidates we have who exer- 
cise their wit 

In getting into offices for which they are 
not fit. 



PHRENOLOGY. 

You might as well undertake to tell 
how much money is in an iron safe by 
feeling the knobs, as to tell what is pre- 
sumed to be in the head of some men by 
feeling their bumps. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




SON-IN-LAW. 

The man who secures a good son-in- 
law, gains another son; hut he who has 
found a bad one, loses a daughter. 



THE WIFE'S APPEAL. 

Are you going from me darling, 

With a frown upon your face, 
While my sad heart is begging 

For a husband's warm embrace? 
Oh, change that unrelenting look 

Before you go away, 
Nor leave me here a prey to grief 

Throughout the live-long day. 

Ah, should you ne'er return to me — 

For mortals may not say 
What moment death's dread messenger 

May summon them away — 
Oh, dreadful thought! the memory 

Time never could erase, 
If, at our final parting, love, 

A frown was on your face. 

No one is perfect — all, at times, 

A hasty word may speak; 
So do not leave me, William, 

With the tears upon my cheek. 
Come, kiss me and be reconciled, 

Thou sweetest, best of men — 
There, that is right. Good-bye, good-bye, 

Now we are friends again. 



STONE THE WOMAN, LET THE 
MAN GO FREE. 

Yes, stone the woman, let the man go 
free! 

Draw back your skirts, lest they per- 
chance may touch 

Her garment as she passes; but to him 

Put forth a willing hand to clasp with 
his 

That led her to destruction and disgrace. 
Shut up from her the sacred ways of 
toil, 

That she no more may win an honest 
meal; 




But ope to him all honorable paths 
Where he may win distinction; give to 

him 
Fair, pressed* down measures of life's 

sweetest joys. 
Pass her, maiden, with a pure, proud 

face, 
If she puts out a poor, polluted palm; 
But lay thy hand in his on bridal day, 
And swear to cling to him with wifely 

love 
And tender reverence. Trust him who 

led 
A sister woman to a fearful fate. 

Yes, stone the woman, let the man go 

free ! 
Let one soul suffer for the guilt of two — 
It is the doctrine of a hurried world, 
Too out of breath for holding balances 
Where nice distinctions and injustices 
Are calmly weighed. But ah, how will 

it be 
On that strange day of final settlement 
When men shall wither with a mystic 

fear, 
And all shall stand before the one true 

Judge? 
Shall sex then make a difference in sin? 
Shall He, the searcher of the hidden 

heart, 
In his external and divine decree, 
Condemn the woman and forgive [the 

man? 



WE LINGERED. 

We lingered in the act to part, 
The last word still unspoken. 

By the quick beating of my heart 
The silence faintly broken. 

So beautiful she seemed, and pui*e — 
Ah, me! how I should miss her; 

Unable longer to endure 

My wish, I asked to kiss her. 

A blush of deepest rose o'erspread 

Her face, as if to mask it, 
As with a woman's art she said: 

Why, Frank, you should not ask it. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




POLICY. 

He who only "strikes when the iron is 
hot," will be overtaken by him who makes 
the " iron hot by striking." 



I WOULD NOT DIE IN WINTER. 

I would not die in winter, 

When whisky punches flow; 
When pretty girls are skating 

O'er fields of ice and snow; 
When sausage meat is frying, 

And hickory nuts are thick, 
0, who could think of dying, 

Or even getting sick? 

I would not die in spring time, 

And miss the cowslip greens, 
The pretty song of little frogs, 

And the skylark's early screams. 
When birds begin their warbling, 

And corn begins to sprout; 
When turkeys go a gobbling, 

I would not then peg out. 

I would not die in summer, 

And leave the garden sass; 
The roasted ham, and buttermilk, 

The cool place in the grass; 
I would not die in summer, 

When everything 's so hot, 
And leave the sweet mint-juleps — 

Oh, no, I 'd rather not. 

I would not die in autumn, 

With peaches fit for eating; 
And nice red apples getting ripe, 

And candidates are treating; 
For these and other reasons, 

I 'd not die in the fall, 
And — since I've thought it over — 

I would not die at all. 



PRAISE. 



If some men could rise from the dead 
and read the inscriptions on their tomb- 
stones, they would think they had got into 




FORGIVENESS. 

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been 
Abused, its kindness answered with foul 
wrong; 
So, turning gloomily from my fellow- 
men, 
One summer Sabbath day I strolled 
among 
The green mounds of the village burial- 
place ; 
Where, pondering how all human love 
and hate 
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late, 
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with 
meekened face, 
And cold hands folded over a still heart, 
Pass the green threshold of our com- 
mon grave, 
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none 
depart, 
And for myself, and pitying my race, 
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave, 
Swept all my pride away, and trembling 
I forgave. 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

That 's hallowed ground, where, mourned 

and missed, 
The lips repose our lips have kissed; — 
But where 's their memory's mansion? 
Is't 
Yon churchyard's bowers? 
No; in ourselves their souls exist, 
A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound; 
The spot where love's first links were 
wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed down to earth profound, 

And up to heaven! 

For time makes all but true love old; 
The burning thoughts that then were 

told 
Run molten still in memory's mould • 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 





A BO;OK OF POEMS 




FAULTS. 

If the faults of the best man on earth 
were written on his forehead, he would 
pull his hat over his eyes. 



FAVORS. 



He who receives a favor should never 
forget it; but he who bestows one, should 
never remember it. 



A LOST LETTER. 

Just read this letter, old friend, of mine; 

I picked it up on Margate pier, 
In a whirling world of women, and wine; 
'T was blotted and blurred with a fallen 
tear. 
Come, think one minute of years ago, 
When the chance was with us — a soul 
to save, 
The whim was in us to love, you know, 
But the woman, she fell to a fool or 
knave. 

" 'Tis easy to picture the tortured heart 
That faced despair and a grief like 
this." 
She saw her lover unloved depart 

And turn again to a hateful kiss. 
" Had I been loved by a man like you " — 

0, weary woman! 0, fearful fate! 
'T is a passionate cry; but it strikes me 
through, 
Who sigh too soon, but who love too 
late. 

"Who was the woman?' 1 I seem to trace 

Her footprints here in Vanity Fair: 
A mother, perchance, with an earnest 
face; 
A wife with a glory of Titian hair. 
A soul perplexed, and a faith at stake, 
A life nigh lost — there are thousands 
such 
Who face the world when their heart- 
strings break 
For the one kind word, and the tender 
touch ! 




Who was the man? what matter at all? 
'T is the man who ruins and sows the 
tears, 
'T is men who tempt, but women who 
fall, 
And are never absolved in the death- 
less years. 
The least we can do, 0, brothers, is this: 
Whilst love is with us, and life seems 
down, 
We can soothe the sad with a gentle kiss, 
And dry the eyes that our sins can 
drown! 

Go back, lost letter of wild despair, 
I will cast you forth on the infinite 
sea; 
But the day glides on, and the Margate 
air 
Is piercing sweet to the world and me. 
But still I can never forget — can you? 
That cry, that nothing can sooth or 
cease; 
" Had I been loved by a man like you, 
I had lived better, and died in peace! 11 



HAPPINESS. 



Let us solve a great problem, as all of us 

should, 
The way to be happy is first to be good. 



I MET THEE. 

I met thee, fairest one, in childhood's 
hours, 
And wandered with thee over dale and 
hill, 
Conversing with the stars, the streams, 
the flowers; 
I loved thee then, and oh! I love thee 
still. 
Come to me! Life is all too dark and 
dreary 
When thou, my guiding spirit, art not 
near; 
Come, I have sought thee till my heart is 
weary, 
And as I loved then, so now thou art 
more dear. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HAPPY HE. 

He is a happy man who finds a friend 
in need, but he is more fortunate who 
never needs a friend. 



'SPECIALLY JIM. 

I was mighty good lookin' when I was 
young, 
Pert, and black-eyed, and slim, 
With fellers a-courtin' me Sunday nights, 
'Specially Jim. 

The likliest one of 'em all was he, 

Chipper an han'som' an trim; 
But I tossed up my head and made fun o' 
the crowd, 

'Specially Jim. 

I said I had'nt no 'pinion o' men, 

An I would n't take stock in him! 
But they kep' on a-comin' in spite of my 
talk, 

'Specially Jim. 

I got so tired of having 'em round, 

('Specially Jim!) 
I made up my mind I 'd settle down 

And take up with him. 

So we wus married one Sunday in church, 

'Twas crowded full to the brim; 
'T was the only way to get rid of 'em all, 
'Specially Jim. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

In the progress of life do n't take no- 
tice of the order, " right about," but be 
sure you are about right, then u go ahead." 



BACKWARD. 



Backward, turn backward, Time in thy 

flight, 
Make me a child again, just for to-night. 




A SEA SIDE INCIDENT. 

"Why, Bob, you dear old fellow, 

Where have you been these years? 
In India, Egypt, Khiva, 

With the Khan's own volunteers? 
Have you scaled the Alps or Andes, 

Sailed to Isles of Amazons? 
What climate, Bob, has wrought the 
change 

Your face from brown to bronze? " 



She placed a dimpled hand in mine, 

In the same frank friendly way; 
We stood once more on the dear old 
beach, 

And it seemed but yesterday 
Since, standing on this same white shore, 

She said, with eyelids wet, 
"Good-bye. You may remember, Bob, 

But I shall not forget." 

I held her hand and whispered low, 

" Madge, darling, what of the years — 
The ten long years that have intervened 

Since, through the mist of tears, 
We spake good-bye on this same white 
beach 
Here by the murmuring sea? 
You, Madge, were then just twenty, 
And I was twenty-three." 

A crimson blush came to her cheek, 

"Hush, Bob," she quickly said; 
"Let's look at the bathers in the surf — 

There's Nellie and cousin Ned." 
"And who's that portly gentleman 

On the shady side of life? " 
"Oh, he belongs to our party, too — 

In fact, Bob, I 'm his wife ! 

"And I tell you, Bob, it's an awful 
thing, 

The way he does behave; 
Flirts with that girl in steel-gray silk — 

Bob, why do you look so grave?" 
" The fact is, Madge — I — well, ahem ! 

Oh, nothing at all, my dear — 
Except that she of the steel-gray silk 

Is the girl I married last year." 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



75 






TRUST. 

I cannot trust your counsel, friend, 
It surely hides your wicked end. 



YOU THINK I AM HAPPY? 

You think I am happy? I 've reason to be, 
For I have a wifey most faithful to me, 
Who loves me as never did wifey before, 
And that 's why she dwells in my heart's 

deepest core. 
She 's beautiful, gentle, and tender and 

true, 
Her eye is so melting and loving and blue: 
She 's graceful and charming, and lithe 

and petite, 
She's merry and happy, and rosy and 

sweet. 

You think I am happy? I 've reason to be, 
For I have a wifey who loves none but me: 
She hovers about me an angel of grace, 
A smile on her winsome and chaste girlish 

face; 
She reads me my wishes from out of my 

looks, 
As though they stood listed and printed 

in books: 
She nurses my ills with a patience divine — 
How happy am I in this wifey of mine. 

You think I am happy? I 've reason to be, 
For I have a wifey who lives but for me: 
She weeps when I go, and she smiles 

when I come, 
My flatteries are of her pleasures the sum : 
She yearns for my kiss, my embrace, and 

caress — 
The hour we first met I shall ne'er cease 

to bless; 
She 's locked in my heart as its idol and 

pride, 
Its love and its treasure, and there she '11 

abide. 



WOMAN. 



Formed of a crooked rib was she — 

By heaven she could not straightened be. 



OUR OWN. 

If I had known in the morning 
How wearily all the day, 

The words unkind 

Would trouble my mind, 

I said, when you went away, 

I had been more careful, darling, 

Nor given you needless pain; 

But we vex our own 

With look and tone 
We might never take back again. 

For though in the quiet evening 
You may give me the kiss of peace, 

Yet, it might be 

That never for me 
The pain of the heart should cease. 
How many go forth in the morning 
That never come home at night; 

And hearts have broken 

For harsh words spoken 
That sorrow can ne'er set right. 

We have careful thoughts for the stranger, 
And smiles for the sometimes guest; 

But oft for " our own " 

The bitter tone, 
Though we love our own the best. 
Ah! lips with the curve impatient 
Ah ! brow with that look of scorn, 

'T were a cruel fate 

Were the night too late 
To undo the work of morn! 



CONDUCT. 



Heed how thou livest. Do not act by "day 
Which from the night shall drive jthy 
peace away. 



FREE. 



The man who gratis will his goods 

supply, 
Will never find a lack of folks to buy. 



ALONE. 



I could no greater sorrow own 
Than live in paradise alone. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




PARTING. 

If thou dost bid thy friend farewell, 
But for one night though that farewell 

may be, 
Press thou his hand in thine. 

How canst thou tell how far from thee 
Fate or caprice may lead his steps ere 

that to-morrow comes? 
Men have been known to lightly turn the 

corner of a street, 
And days have grown to months, and 

months to lagging years 
Ere they have looked in loving eyes again. 
Parting, at best, is underlaid with tears 

and pain. 
Therefore, lest sudden death should 

come between, 
Or time, or distance, clasp with pressure 

firm 
The hand of him who goeth forth ; 
Unseen, fate goeth, too. 
Yes, find thou always time to say some 

tender word 
Between idle talk, 
Lest, with thee henceforth, 
A little time may mean eternity. 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

Good-night, dear friend ! I say good-night 
to thee 
Across the moonbeams tremulous and 
white, 
Bridging all space between us it may be, 
Lean low, sweet friend; it is the last 
good-night. 

For, lying low upon my couch and still, 
The fever flush evanished from my 
face 
I heard them whisper softly, " 'T is His 
will ; 
Angels will give her happier resting 
place!" 

And so from sight of tears that fell like 
rain, 
And sounds of sobbing smothered 
close and low, 
I turned my pale face to the window- 
pane, 
To say good-night to thee before I go. 



— 




Good-night! good-night! I do not fear the 
end, 
The conflict with the billows dark and 
high; 
And yet, if I could touch thy hand, my 
friend, 
I think it would be easier to die. 

If I could feel through all the quiet 
waves 
Of my deep hair thy tender breath 
athrill, 
I could go downward to the place of 
graves 
With eyes ashine and pale lips smiling 
still. 

Or it may be that, if through all the 
strife 
And pain of parting I should hear thy 
call, 
I would come singing back to sweet, 
sweet life, 
And know no mystery of death at all. 

It may not be. Good-night, dear friend, 

good-night ! 

And when you see the violets again, 

And hear, through boughs with swollen 

buds awhile, 

The gentle falling of the April rain, 

Remember her whose young life held thy 
name 
With all things holy, in its outward 
flight, 
And turn some time from busy haunts of 
men 
To hear again her low good-night! 
good-night ! 



I'D GIVE THE WIDE WORLD. 

Oh I 'd give the whole wide world, if the 
world was mine to give, 
To cast my longing eyes once more 
upon her lovely face. 
She 's the darling of my darlings, and she 
in my heart doth live; 
There 's no one that 's her equal for 
her beauty and her grace. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




h 



A WIFE WANTED. 
Ye fair ones attend, I 've an offer to make 

ye, 

In Hymen's soft bands I am anxious to 

live; 
For better, for worse, a companion I '11 

take me, 
Provided she fills the description I give. 

I neither expect nor can hope for per- 
fection, 
For that never yet was a bachelor's lot; 
But, choosing a wife, I would make a 
selection, 
Which many in my situation would 
not. 

I'd have — let me see — no — I'd not 
have a beauty, 
For beautiful women are apt to be 
vain ; 
Yet, with a small share, I would think it a 
duty — 
To take her, be thankful, and never 
complain. 

Her form must be good, without art to 
constrain it, 
And rather above than below middle 
size; 
A something (it puzzles my brain to ex- 
plain it) 
Like eloquent language must flow from 
her eyes. 

She must be well-bred or I could not re- 
spect her, 
Good natured, and modest, and not 
very coy; 
Her mind well formed — 'tis the purified 
nectar 
That sweetens the cup of hymenial joy. 

Her home she must love, and domestic 
employment — 
Have practical knowledge of house- 
hold affairs; 
And make it a part of her highest enjoy- 
ment 
To soften my troubles and lighten my 
n cares. 

ex 



Her age I would have at the least to be 
twenty, 
But not to exceed twenty-five at the 
most. 
And girls at that age being everywhere 
plenty, 
I hope to get one of the numerous host. 

No fortune I ask, for I've no predilec- 
tion 
For glitter and show, or the pomp of 
high life; 
I wish to be bound by the cords of affec- 
tion — 
And now I have drawn you a sketch of 
a wife. 

If any possess the above requisitions, 
And wish to be bound by the conjugal 
band, 
They will please to step forward, they 
know the conditions: — 
Inquire of the printer, I 'm always at 
hand. 



JEALOUSY. 



When gods had framed the sweets of 
woman's face, 
And locks men's looks within her 
golden hair, 
That Phoebus blushed to see her match- 
less grace, 
And heavenly gods on earth did make 
repair, 
To 'quip fair Venus' overweening pride, 
Love's happy thoughts to jealousy were i 
tied. 

There grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' 

brow, 
The amber sweet of love is turned to 

gall! 
Gloomy was heaven; bright Phoebus did 

avow 
He would be coy, and would not love 

at all; 
Swearing no greater mischief could be 

wrought, 
Than love united to a jealous thougt 







78 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




FASHION. 

Pray why should I mingle in fashion's 
base herd? 
Why crouch to her leaders or cringe to 
her rules? 
Why bow to the proud or approve the 
absurd, 
Or search for delight in the friendship 
of fools. 




THE LOVER'S RETURN. 

Across the fields of blossoming clover 

The children merrily romp and play; 
Bright yellow butterflies flit the fields 
over; 
Blue are the skies of the cloudless day. 
Two fair children — the girl as tender 
And sweet as the lilies that grow by 
the stream; 
The boy as dark as a gipsy, and slender, 
f With curly brown hair and eyes a- 
gleam. 

"Dear little Kathleen, promise me truly 
That, when you 're a woman, you '11 be 
my wife," 
And the girl, with a tremble, answered: 
" Surely, 
I '11 love and wait for you all my life." 
"Then good-bye to you, sweet little Kath- 
leen, 
To make us a home I '11 cross o'er the 
sea; 
There 's no one to help or hinder me, dar- 
ling, 
I 'm happy enough if you 're waiting 
for me. 

"May angels hold you in their keeping! 

When the clover blossoms, I '11 come 
some year." 
With a kiss he left her sadly weeping, 

And crossed the ocean without a fear. 
The winter fields with snow were covered; 
I The clover fields were bright with bloom ; 
For ten long years she waits her lover, 

To welcome him to his childhood's 
home. 



One June evening a maiden lingered 

In the meadow under the old elm tree; 
She pulled a daisy's snowy petals, 

And whispered: " Will he come back to 
me?" 
Some one hastened across the clover, — 

A strong man stood by the maiden's 
side: 
"Dear little Kathleen, the waiting 's over; 

I 've crossed the ocean to claim my bride. 

"I've earned a home in the far, new 
country; 
I've come to take you back with me." 
Then there was joy and a merry wedding, 
And he took his darling across the sea. 
In a dear little home they live contented; 
And they always love the clover bloom; 
For it carries their thoughts beyond the 
ocean 
To the clover fields of their childhood's 
home. 



LEANDER. 



Thus brave Leander sunders from his 
bride, 
The wrenching pain disparts his soul 
in twain; 
Half stays with her, half goes towards the 
tide, 
And life must ache till they join hands 
again. 

And for the agony and bosom-throe, 
Let it be measured by the wide, vast 
air, 
For that is infinite, and so is woe, 

Since parted lovers breathe it every- 
where. 



A MOMENT'S THINKING. 

A moment's thinking is an hour in words. 
An hour in words is little for some 
woes. 
Too little breathing a long life affords 
For love to paint itself by perfect 
shows. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



79 






EMBARKATION. 

king of waves, and brother of high 
Jove, 
Preserve my seemless venture there 
afloat; 
A woman's heart, and its whole wealth of 
love, 
Are all embarked upon that little boat. 

If impious mariners be stained with crime, 
Shake not in awful rage thy hoary 
locks; 
La} 7 by thy storms until another time, 
Lest my frail bark be dashed against 
the rocks. 



FOR THE OLD LOVE'S SAKE. 

Thy way, he said, is smooth, and green 
and fair, 
There are no thorns to wound and 

bruise thy feet; 
Where summer reigns, and starlight 
blossoms sweet 
Bend to the wind's low call; thy path 

is there! 
And mine? Alas! no dewy mornings 
break 
Across the valley where my path hath 

lain. 
And yet, though youth ' be dead and 
faith be slain, 
I keep thy tokens for the old love's 
sake. 

Above the urn that holds no hidden flame 
Of altar fires that long have paled 

away, 
I yet may pause, and in the ashes gray, 
Read with dim eyes the old familiar 

name, 
And if some shadowy memory should 
awake, 
If once again my eyes with tears grow 

wet, 
If in my heart should spring some vain 
regret, 
Nay, do not scorn me for the old love's 
sake. 




As one who sees in old remembered nooks, 
With eyes that have grown sad with 

ceaseless tears, 
The same glad beauty of the long-lost 
years, 
And hears again the song of summer 

brooks. 
So if from troubled dreams I could awake, 
And feel thy warm, soft kisses on my 

face, 
I think the sweetness of thy winsome 
grace, 
Would touch me, only for the old love's 
sake. 



WHAT IS A CHUMP? 

If a man meets a girl, who cries out " oh 

don't," 
When he strives for a kiss, and he minds 

her and wont, 

He's a chump. 

If a man has a wife, and thwarts her 

desires 
By refusing her cash, or not building the 

fires, 

He 's a chump. 

Or again, if he have, and thinks he's a 
hoss 

That can kick when he pleases, and al- 
ways be boss, 

He's a chump. 

When a man wants some votes, and seri- 
ously thinks, 

He 's going to get them by neglecting the 
drinks, 

He 's a chump. 

When a man prints a book, and thinks 

he can run 
The great moral engine on a spoonful of 

mon, 

He 's a chump. 



FOLLY. 



Who hopes to merit heaven by making 
earth a hell. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




KISSES. 

Keep not your kisses for my dead cold 

brow, 
For I am lonely, give them to me now. 




TO-MORROW. 

Oh! sweetest maiden in the land, 

You cause my soul to sorrow, 
Whene'er I seek your heart and hand 
You say to me in accents bland, 
I '11 tell you, sir, to-morrow. 

And so 1 wait another day 

To have my fond hopes blighted, 
The answer still seems far away 
From me, who cannot brook delay, 
And like to see wrongs righted. 

If it be u Yes," why, tell me " Yes," 

That I may be transported 
Unto the seventh heaven of bliss, 
The brightest in a world like this — 

We long enough have courted. 

If it be " No," then tell me "No," 

And I will fly from danger; 
I'll bask no more in love's sweet glow; 
But mingle with the world's wide woe, 

A sad and hopeless ranger. 

Ah! love, how I should miss your smile, 

And miss your merry laughter; 
When parted from you many a mile, 
The echo would my ear beguile 
For many a long year after. 

And not a blue eye in the land 

Would beam so sweetly tender, 
And not a single lily hand 
Could hold so at its sweet command 
Its would-be bold defender. 

Perhaps the dream might pass away, 

My love, if I should tarry, 
And in some foreign country stay 
For years and years! Perhaps some day, 

My darling, I might — marry. 



Ah ! that has brought the maiden^tears — 

I've conquered, and I know it; 
I have no longer foolish fears, 
The tell-tale rosy blush appears, 
You love me, and you show it. 

Now put that willing hand in mine, 

My precious little treasure, 
Your smiles were never more divine 
Than through the sparkling tear-drops 
shine, 

Which give me so much pleasure. 

Oh! sweetest maiden in^the land, 

You 've cured my soul of sorrow, 
You 've given me your heart and hand, 
And said to me in accents bland, 
I '11 marry you to-morrow. 



LOVE. 



In dumb petition to the*gods"above, 
Love prays devoutly when| it prays -1 for 
love. 



THE SLUGGARD'S'GARDEN. 

The pear and quince lay rotting on the 
grass; 
The mould was purple" with unheeding 
showers 
Of bloomy plums — a wilderness it was 
Of fruits, and weeds, and'flowers. 

The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced, 
The sturdy burdock choked its slender 
neighbor, 

The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced 
Of human care and labor. 

The very yew formality had trained 
To such a rigid pyramidal stature, 

For want of trimming had almost regained 
The ruggedness of nature. 

On every side the aspect was the same. 

All ruined, desolate, forlorn and savage; 
No hand or foot within the garden came, 

To rectify or ravage. 





'*3EB 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



BIO 



FLIRT. 

I see no guile upon her face, 

At least to look one would believe so; 
She seems a paragon of grace, 

But yet these flirts they can deceive bo. 



WRONG. 



We see the right, and we approve it, too; 
Condemn the wrong, but yet the wrong 

pursue. 
How oft in life we think we Ve done no 

evil, 
But on reflection we have played the 

devil. 



WHAT HAVE I DONE? 

I lay my finger on Time's wrist to score 
The forward surging moments as they 
roll; 
Each pulse seems quicker than the one 
before; 
And lo! my days pile up against my 
soul 
As clouds pile up against the golden sun. 
Alas! What have I done? What have 
I done? 

I never steep the rosy hours in sleep, 

Or hide my soul as in a gloomy crypt; 
No idle hands into my bosom creep; 
And yet, as water-drops from house- 
eaves drip, 
So, viewless, melt my days, and from me 
run; 
Alas! What have I done? What have 
I done? 

I have not missed the fragrance of the 
flowers, 
Or scorned the music of the flowing 
rills, 
Whose numerous liquid tongues sing to 
the hours; 
Yet rise my days behind me, like the 
hills, 
Unstarred by light of mighty triumphs 
won; 
Alas! What have I done? What have 
I done? 



Be still, my soul, restrain my lips from 
woe! 
Cease thy lament! for life is but the 
flower; 
The fruit comes after death; how canst 
thou know 
The roundness of its form, its depth of 
power? 
Death is life's morning. When thy 
work's begun, 
Then ask thyself — What yet is to be 
done? 



AMIABILITY. 

There are some men who can deny a 
favor so graciously as to please us in the 
refusal; whilst others confer an obliga- 
tion so rudely as to disgust us in their 
kindness. 



BALL. 



Of all who did dance 't were a long tale 

to tell, 
Of flounces or dresses, or who was the 

belle; 
For each one was happy, and all were so 

fair, 
That night passed away and the dawn 

caught them there. 



THE MAN WHO IN LIFE. 

The man who, in life, is blest with a wife, 
Is sure in a happy condition ; 

Try things as you will, she '11 stick to you 
still, 
As comforter, friend, and physician. 



THE DRUNKARD. 

" Time wears me away," 
Says the drunkard each day, 
" Ere I scarce have arrived at my prime;" 
Hold ! hold ! not so fast, 
Says the scholar in haste, 

For I think it is you that wastes time. 



% 



-£\ 



82 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



HAPPINESS. 

The best way to enjoy happiness is to 
keep both mind and body so busy that 
you will have no spare time to be miser- 
able. 



WORDS. 



There are but two words in the Eng- 
lish language which contain all the 
rowels in their regular order, viz : Ab- 
stemiously, facetiously. 



DYING FIRES. 

The log on which the hearth-fire long has 
fed 
Is nigh consumed, and now the flame 
burns low, 
With one faint blaze of feeble, flickering 
red, 
That ghostly figures on the wall doth 
throw. 
But now the wind comes breathing soft 
along, 
It flames again and lights the gloom 
about, 
Then lower sinks, as quick the wind is 
gone, 
Then flickering fades, and with a puff 
goes out. 

Love's fire for long has fed upon the 

heart, 
And nigh consumed it through a feeble 

flame, 
From out the ashes now and then doth 

start, 
Casting wierd shadows on the troubled 

brain. 
But memVy's wind comes breathing softly 

by, 

It glows again and for a time is bright, 
Then the thought passes, and lips sadly 

sigh, 
As it dies out, and leaves behind but 

night. 



COQUETTE. 

Vain with the idea she every man can 

please, 
She spends her life in learning whom to 

tease, 
Her affliction meets with no regard, 
Contempt from women is her last reward. 

A kind of fish which neither hook nor 

line, 
Nor snare, nor trap, nor net, can make her 

thine, 
She must be baited and be tickled too, 
Or she will not be caught, whate'er you 

do. 



MY COUNTRY — ELOQUENCE. 

When the rights of my country are 
invaded, and the war blast shall sound, 
"To arms!" he who mounts his charger 
to avenge her wrongs sooner than I, 
must rise by the dim twilight of the 
morning star, and whet his sabre before 
the dawn of day. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Whilst in the dark on her soft hand I 

hung, 
And heard the sweetest lispings of her 

tongue, 
What thought, what darts, what anguish 

I endured, 
But when she struck a light — my 'ove 

was cured. 



WOMAN. 



With so much of heaven and hell about 

you, 
There is no living with, or without you. 



DOUBT. 



Cowardice asks, Is it safe ? Expediency 
asks, Is it politic? Vanity asks, Is it pop- 
ular? Conscience asks, Is it right? 

C fafi 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A WOMAN'S WILL. 

Men, dying, make their wills, but wires 

Escape a work so sad; 
Why should they make what all their lives 

The gentle dames have had. 



AT THE PIANO. 

Before the ivory keys she sat 

And touched the notes: but all of that 

Was much like other people at 

A grand piano; 
But suddenly, when all was still, 
Across my heart there came a thrill, 
Responsive to a mellow trill 

Of soft soprano. 

Then all seemed changed; the little room 
Was fragrant with a faint perfume, 
As if a rose-bush burst in bloom 

And showed a blossom; 
' T was only one, I knew full well 
How happily it seemed to dwell, 
Where first it lifted and then fell, 

Upon her bosom. 

Outstretched a little was her chin, 

A solitary dimple in, 

Which seemed so say: "When I begin 

To change and alter, 
Beware! Young Cupid lurketh near!" 
Alas ! I did not choose to hear, 
And soon my lips a timid " Dear " 

Began to falter, 

And on, and on, throughout that song — 
The notes now faint, now clear and 

strong — 
My heart grew restless, till ere long 

I touched her shoulder; 
The fingers from the white keys dropped, 
Down from her lips the songster hopped, 
The music, note by note, was stopped, 

And then I told her. 




TEMPERANCE. 

Temperance makes the head clear, the 
heart light, the body warm, the purse 
heavy, health better, and death easier. 



TOBACCO. 

Pernicious weed, whose filthy taste annoys 
Our finer feelings, and our health destroys. 
A drug but suited to a gard'ner's wants 
To poison vermin that infests his plants. 



IS IT ANYBODY'S BUSINESS? 

Is it anybody's business when a young 

man goes to call, 
If he enters at the kitchen, or the parlor, 

or the hall? 
Is it anybody's business but the girl's he 

goes to see, 
What the young man's name and station 

may happen then to be ? 

It is anybody's business if he stays till it 

is late? 
Or anybody's business if she follows to the 

gate? 
If he kisses her at parting and she does 

not seem to grieve, 
Is it anybody's business, save the man's 

who takes his leave ? 

If he come to take her walking on a pleas_ 

ant afternoon 
Is it anybody's business if they do not 

come back soon? 
If by chance they come together upon the 

public street, 
Is it anybody's business if she blushes 

when they meet? 

If he goes to see her Sundays and often 

stays to tea, 
Is it anybody's business what his business 

there may be? 
Is it anybody's business? I would really 

like to know; 
K it's not, I'm sure they're many who 

who try to make it so. 



HE WHO A WATCH MUST WEAR. 

He who a watch must wear, two things 

should do: 
Pocket his watch., .""d watch his pocket, 

too. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



SADNESS. 

What is the worst of foes that wait on 
age? 
What stamps the wrinkles deeper on 
the brow? 
It is to see each loved one blotted from 
life's page, 
And left alone on earth as I am now. 



SINCERITY — CYNTHIA. 

Thou art the dearest object of my heart - 
Pray search that heart and see; 

And from that bosom tear that part 
That beats not true to thee. 

Yes! in that bosom thou art dear, 
Far more than words can tell; 

If there's a fault concealed within, 
'T is lovingr thee too well. 



AN IRISH LETTER. 

Ireland, Jinuary the 1th. 
My Dear Nephew: I hav'nt sint ye a 
letther since the last toime I wrote to ye, 
bekase we have moved from our former 
place of livin' and did not know where a 
letther would find ye; but I now with 
pleasure take up me pen to inform ye of 
the death of yer own livin' uncle, Ned 
Fitzpatrick, who. died very suddenly af- 
ther a lingering illness of six weeks. He 
was in violent convulsions the whole time 
of his sickness, lyin' perfectly quiet and 
intirely speechless — all the while talkin' 
and cryin' for wather. I had no oppor- 
tunity of informin' ye of his death sooner, 
except I wrote to ye by the last post, which 
same went off two days before he died; 
and thin ye would have postage to pay. 
I'm at a loss to tell what his death was 
occasioned by, but I fear it was by his last 
sickness, for he was niver well ten days 
together during the whole of his confine- 
ment, and I believe his death was brought 
about by his aitin' too much of rabbit 
stuffed with pais and gravy, so that whin 
he breathed his last, the Docther gave up 



all hope of his recovery. I needn't tell 
ye anything about his age, for ye well 
know that in June next he would have 
been just seventy-five years old, lacking 
tin months, and, had he lived till that 
time, would have been just six months 
dead. 

His property now devolves to his next 
of kin, which all died some time ago, so 
that I expect it will be divided between 
us; and ye know his property, which was 
very large, was sold to pay his debts, and 
the remainder he lost at a horse race; but 
it was the opinion of ivery body at the time 
that he would have won the race, if the 
baste he run aginst hadn't bin too fasht 
for him; but, poor soul! he will not ate or 
dhrink any more, and ye haven't a livin' 
relation in the world except meself and 
yer two cousins who were kilt in the lasth 
war. I shall sale the letther with black 
salin wax, so I beg ye not to break the 
sale when ye open the letther, and dont 
open it until two or three days af ther ye 
resave it, for by that time ye will be pre- 
pared to hear the sorrowful tidings. Yer 
old sweethart sinds her love unknownst 
to you. When Jairy McGrhee arrives in 
America, ax him for this letther, and if he 
dont bring it from amongst the rest, tell 
him its the one that spakes about your 
uncle's death and ould grandmother. 
Bridget O'Hooligois". 

P. S. Dont write till you resave this. 

N. B. When yez come to this place, 
sthop, and dont rade any more until my 
next. 



TAXES. 



There is one passage in Holy Writ in 
which all the powers on earth agree, viz: 
And there went out among them in those 
days a decree that all the world should 
be taxed. 



VICE. 



Vice stings us even in our pleasures, 
whilst virtue consoles us in our pains 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




RESIGNATION. 

Often has the pearly tear 

Stolen softly down my cheek, 

To tell, in eloquence sincere, 
A tale of love it could not speak. 

Those days of weeping have passed o'er, 
Although accompanied with pain; 

Thank God, I feel distress no more — 
I ne'er shall think of her again. 



RUMOR. 



The flying rumors gather 1 d as they roll'd; 
Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told ; 
And all who told it added something new, 
And those who heard it made enlargement 
too. 



TRUE TO ONE. 

When you are cheerful, kind, and free, 
You'll surely find a friend in me; 
And when you sigh for one alone, 
How pleased I 'd feel to be that one. 
But when I find you 're bound to rove 
With other men, then good-bye, love. 
You must be candid, fond and true, 
Through good report, and evil too; 
If not, I swear your love may go — 
For aught I care — to Jericho. 



WE TWO. 



We loitered and roamed 'mid the blossom- 
. ing wildwood, 
All through the sweet redolent hours 
of spring, 
And our innocent hearts were as care-free 
and happy, 
And light as a bird on the wing. 

We walked down the pathway, the grasses 
just bending 
Beneath the soft fall of our loitering 
tread ; 
We gathered the pale little blossoms and 
twined them 
In crowns for your beautiful head. 




And spring lingered on till it ripened to ' 
summer, 

That season when fragrance and loveli- 
ness teem 

About the fair earth, and to us the sweet 
hours 
Seemed just like a long happy dream. 

But our hearts were athrob with a strange 
sweet emotion 
All through that fair dream of the long 
summer days, 
And we'd have been happy, if through the 
green wildwood 
We two could have loitered always. 

But the sweet summer waned, and the low 
sighing breezes 
Were whispering softly that autumn 
had come; 
And one lovely day, while the birii were 
all singing, 
And the sky seemed a vast azure dome. 

We stood in the ranks of the slow-dying 
flowers, 
While red leaves were whispering and 
fluttering above, 
And there, with a goldened crowned head 
on my bosom, 
I gathered my harvest of love! 



WE CANNOT GO SO FAR. 

We cannot go so far 

That home is out of sight; 
The morn, the evening star, 
Will say good-day, good-night! 
The heart that loves will never be alone; 
All earth, all heaven, it reckons as its own. 



GOOD WORDS. 

May God be near thee, friend, 

When I am far away; 
May His smile cheer thee, friend, 
And make all light as day: 
The heart that serves, and loves, and 

clings, 
Hears everywhere the rush of angels' 
wings. 




ft 



86 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




TREASON. 

Is there not some chosen curse, 

Some hidden thunder in the stores of 
Heaven, 
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the 
man 
Who owes his greatness to his coun- 
try's ruin? 



IT IS BETTER. 

It is better to employ a quack, if he can 
cure your complaint, although he cannot 
explain it, than employ a physician who 
understands your disease but cannot cure 
it. 



RESIGNATION. 

To be resigned when ills betide, 
Patient when favors are denied, 

And pleased with favors given — 
Most surely this is wisdom's part, 
And 'tis that incense of the heart 

Whose fragrance smells to heaven. 



WIDOWER. 



Soon as death has deprived him of a dear, 

loving wife, 
He mingles again in the pleasures of life, 
To seek a new object, and cheerfully then 
Concludes it is best he should marry 

again; 
With a foretaste of wedlock, no time to 

consider, 
His choice is soon made, whether maiden 

or widow; 
Just so with men, how seldom they tarry; 
They are never contented till some one 

they marry. 



SLANDER. 



A slanderer felt a serpent bite his side. 
What followed from the bite? The ser- 
pent died. 




SO TENDER AND SO TRUE. 

" Such a pretty pair," I whispered, as they 
came in sweet spring weather, 
Arm in arm, and so devoted that they 
scarcely heeded us. 
Like a pair of nested robins they had 
settled down together, 
And their simple little love-tale, like a 
golden thread, ran thus: 

She had lost her parents early, he, a noble 
lad and older, 
Often took her part in childhood, till 
her champion he became. 
And when poverty o'ertook her, as he 
loved her, he grew bolder, 
And asked her on his freedom day to 
take his heart and name. 

" I thought," she answered, naively, " that 
you loved me like a sister! " 
But her blushes told the story, that 
she fain would be his wife. 
So the simple words were spoken, and 
then tenderly he kissed her, 
And vowed to shield and shelter her 
fore'er while he had life. 

And here they are now settled — on what 
a firm foundation — 
The love began in childhood, so tender 
and so true. 
A little fair white cottage in a rural sit- 
uation, 
With the earth so green below them, 
and the skies above so blue. 

Ah ! He is like an oak-tree, that offereth 
protection, 
And she is like the ivy that clingeth to 
its side. 
We hope that heaven's blessings may fall 
in their direction, 
And another earth bring argosies to 
bridegroom and to bride. 



VIRTUE. 



Keep virtue's simple path before your 

eyes, 
Nor think from evil good can ever risa. < 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




UNITY. 

Our hearts, dear girl, responsive still 

In unison so closely sweet, 
Each to the other's movements thrill 

Must love in truth, or cease to beat. 

Then let our hearts forever flow 
In gentle streams together run, 

To part them now — forbid — oh, no! 
We cannot part; our hearts are one. 



TO A LADY. 



Lady, bright and fragrant flowers 

In my garden bloom, 
Shedding o'er my lone heart's altar 

Rich and rare perfume. 
Few they are. yet life without them 

Scarcely life would be, — 
Lady, yet among those flowrets 

There is room for thee. 



LOVE HATH EYES. 

Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so 
freshly shining; 
Let them that miss their way be guided 
by the light; 
I know my lady's bower, there needs no 
more divining, 
Affection sees in dark, and love hath 
eyes by night. 



SUCCESS. 



It is success that colors all in life, 

Makes villains honest, and the rogue 
admired ; 
Yea, even virtue, if opposed by strife, 
Yields to success, no matter how ac- 
quired. 




REFLECTION. 

Some women are the very reverse of 
their own mirrors: they talk without re- 
flecting, whilst their mirror reflects with- 
out talking. 



SWEARING. 

Emma, I swear by all I ever swore, 
Now, from this hour, I shall not love thee 

more. 
What! not love me more ? Why this 

broken vow? 
Because I cannot love thee more than now. 



HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD. 

This world is no hive where the drone 
may repose 
While others are gleaning its honey 
with care; 
Nor will he succeed who is dealing in 
blows 
At random, and recklessly hits every- 
where. 
But choose well your purpose, then breast 
to the strife, 
And hold to it firmly, by rectitude led; 
Give your heart to that duty, and strike 
for your life, 
And with every stroke hit the nail on 
the head. 

If fate is against you ne'er falter nor 
fret, 
'Twill not mend your fortunes nor 
lighten your load; 
Be earnest, still earnest, and you will for- 
get 
You e'er had a burden to bear on the 
road. 
And when at the close what a pleasure 
to know 
That you, never flinching, however life 
sped, 
Gave your heart to your duty, your 
strength to each blow, 
And with every stroke hit the nail on 
the head. 



VOWS. 



Once your sacred vows are broken, 
Friends you cannot then retain; 

Often words in error spoken 
Find a passage home again. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




OLD AGE. 

The greatest comfort of old age is the 
pleasing remembrance of the many ben- 
efits and favors done to others during 
youth and manhood. 



PITY. 



He that can please nobody is not so 
much to be pitied as he whom nobody can 
please. 



THE FOOL'S PRAYER. 

The royal feast was done; the king 
Sought some new spot to banish care, 

And to his jester cried, " Sir Fool, 
Kneel now for us and make a prayer!" 

The jester doffed his cap and bells, 
And stood the mocking court before; 

They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

He bowed his head and bent his knee 
Upon the monarch's silken stool; 

His pleading voice arose, " Lord, 
Be merciful to me, A Fool! 

"No pity, Lord, could change the heart 
From red with wrong to white as wool; 

The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord, 
Be merciful to me, A Fool ! 

" 'T is by our guilt the onward sweep 
Of truth and right, Lord, we stay; 

'T is by our follies that so long 

We hold the earth from heaven away. 

" Those clumsy feet, still in the mire, 
Go crushing blossoms without end, 

These hard, well-meaning hands,we thrust 
Among the heart-strings of a friend. 

" Our faults no tenderness should ask, 
The chastening stripes must cleanse 
them all; 
But for our blunders — oh, in shame 
efore the eyes of heaven we fall. 




" Earth bears no blossoms for mistakes; 

Men crown the knave and scourge the 
tool 
That did his will; but Thou, Lord, 

Be merciful to me, A Fool!" 

The room was hushed, in silence rose 
The King, and sought his garden cool, 

And walked apart and murmured low, 
"Be merciful to me, A Fool !" 



GRACEFUL. 



With graceful ease and sweetness, void of 

pride, 
Maud hides her faults — if she has faults 

to hide 



EXCESS. 



The excesses of youth are but debts due 
to old age, and generally payable about 
thirty years after date, with usurious in- 
terest. 



CHIVALRY. 



Could deeds my heart discover, 
Could valor gain your charms, 

I 'd prove myself your lover 
Against a world in arms. 



SING ALL THY LIFE. 

Sing all thy life. Though I may ne'er 

From thee a thought or feeling claim! 
Thy happiness to me is dear, 

Though mine live only in the name. 
For love shall crown thy hopes, and be 

In thy clear sky the genial sun, 
When I, a wanderer, far from thee, 

Of guiding sun and stars have none. 
Yet through all woe — through good and 

ill, 
I'll think of thee— 'twill bless me still! 





A J500K OF POEMS 




WEDLOCK. 

In wedlock a species of lottery lies, 
Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; 

How comes it that you, such a capital 
prize, 
Should remain so long in the wheel? 

If ever by fortune's indulgent decree, 

To me such a ticket is sold, 
One-eighth, Heaven knows, would satisfy 
me, 

For what could I do with the whole? 



TEMPTED. 



Tempted by love, by storms beset, 
Thine image I can ne'er forget. 



I FEAR NOT THY FROWN. 

I fear not thy frown, and I ask not thy 
smile, 
Thy love has no value for me! 
The spell of thine eye can no longer be- 
guile — 
My heart from enchantment is free! 

Thou may'st whisper the language of love 
as before, 
Thou may'st speak of the past if thou 
wilt; 
It can only the record of falsehood re- 
store, 
Or awake the remembrance of guilt. 

Time was when I dreamed 'twould be 
death to my heart, 
To live disunited from thee; 
That life, from thy love and thy presence 
apart, 
Must a desolate wilderness be! 

I loved — with a love devoted and deep, 

'Twere vanity now to recall! 
I loved, 0, too truly! for now I could 
weep 
That I e'er should have loved thee at 
all! 




We meet in tbe throng, and we join in 
the dance, 
And thy voice is as soft, and as low; 
And thine eye hath as deep and as earn- 
est a glance, 
As it had when we met long ago. 

But I think of the past as a vision that 's 
flown; 
Of thy love as a dream of the night: 
The magic is gone from thy look and thy 
tone — 
Thy falsehood hath put it to flight. 

And coldly, aye coldly ! I gaze on thee 
now, 
Or turn from thy presence away; 
I heed not the beauty that dwells on thy 
brow — 
A beauty to win and betray. 

Like a sepulcher, garnished and fair to 
the sight, 
Though filled with corruption and 
death, — 
Thy cheek may be fair, and thy eye may 
be bright, 
While your false heart is beating be- 
neath. 



THE HAPPY PAIR. 

She was dark as a gipsy queen, 
A fine brunette as e'er was seen, 

A merry, laughing sprite; 
Her voice was like the linnet's song; 
Her hand was shapely, large and strong, 

And was not oyer white; 
Her long black hair would never curl; 
But she was just as good a girl 

As ever saw the light. 

And he was neither rich nor great, 
Nor tall nor dark; and yet their fate 

Decreed that they should meet; 
Her black eyes won him with a look; 
His blue-eyed dream he quite forsook — 

This glad new love to greet; 
And when she took his proffered hand, 
Without a thought of gold or land, 

He felt his joy complete. 



*tk 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




BELIEVE THEM NOT. 

Your shining eyes and golden hair, 

Your lily-rosed lips most fair, 

Your other beauties that excel, 

Men cannot choose but like them well; 

But when for them they say they '11 die, 

Believe them not, they do but lie. 



DEAR EFFIE. 

I asked her to have me for weal or for 
woe, 
And she did not object in the least, 
I can't tell the date, but we married I 
know, 
Just in time to have game at the feast. 




LOVE AT AUCTION. 

yes ! yes ! yes ! For sale, 

At auction to the highest bidders, 
Without reserve — pray list to the tale 

Ye " nice young men, 11 and tender wid- 
ows, — 
A lot of sundries of all sorts 

Of gentle gifts, of love the token; — 
Rings, chains and cupids, darts and hearts, 

Some sound and whole, some cracked 
and broken; 

Watch-guards, watch-papers, and watch- 
seals; 

Rings, plain and fanciful, in plenty; 
Breast-pins, pen-wipers, and grace-quills; 

With miniatures, perhaps some twenty; 
Pin-cushions, fifty odd or more; 

Slippers with love-knots, several pair; 
Of valentines at least a score; 

And some few hundred locks of hair! 

And to begin the sale: — Here's this 

Small lot — a ring, with chain and 
locket, 
All of pure pinchbeck — from a Miss 

Who once drew largely on my pocket: 
To balls, to concerts, to the play, 

And rides I freely use to treat her; 
The cut direct, the other day 

She gave me, when I chanced to meet 
her! 



This was the gift of one I loved, 

God knows how fervently and truly! 
Or should have so if she had proved 

One half the thing I thought her 
wholly; 
She turned out but a fair coquette, 

And when she laid me on the shelf, 
With this dark braid — I have it yet — 

Her gift, I thought to hang myself: — 

I didn't though! I laid it by 

Until with years my love is cool; 
And looking now upon it, I 

Can wonder I was such a fool. 
Poor girl! she's wedded since to one 

Who loved her dearly — for her pelf! 
The wretch! to Texas late has gone 

And left her now to hang herself! 

No more ! the sale must close lest I 

Each firm resolve should reconsider, 
Throw in one lot, the rest — who '11 buy? 

I '11 knock it to the highest bidder; 
I thought it not so hardly done, 

Each long lamented tie to sever; 
But now they 're " going — going — 
gone! " 

And love and I here part forever! 



NO BITTERNESS. 

I weed all bitterness from out my breast, 
It hath no business where thou art a 
guest. 



AUTOGRAPH. 

The heart's a little thing 'tis true, 

And maybe light; but others weeping, 
And low on bended knees will sue — 
"Fair lady, trust it to my keeping!" 
But have a care for suitors clever, 
For one regret may last forever 



A TASK. 



Long, long, my friend, would be the task 
To answer all that love would ask. 



m* 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




I WAS HAPPY YESTERNIGHT. 

The hearth was piled with glowing coals, 
Diffusing warmth and ruddy light, 

Alone, with Annie in my arms, 
0! I was happy yesternight! 

Her beating heart, I felt its throb 
When'er I strained her to my breast; 

And in its raptured trembling read 
The love I wooed her for confessed. 

Her tearful eyes, so brightly blue, 
Turned not their melting rays on me; 

Upon the shadowy ceil she gazed, 
Like one who dreamed in ecstacy. 

And not with words we plighted faith, 
For words the rapturous spell had 
broke; 

Yet firmer, truer vows, than ours, 
! never yet hath lover spoke. 

All fears, all sorrows, I forgot, 
My soul was ravished with delight; 

Alone, with Annie in my arms, 
0! I was happy yesternight! 



DANGEROUS. 

There's nothing sweet in life but harm 

doth bring; 
Even to be happy is a dangerous thing. 



HATRED. 



Oh that I and he were on the waves to- 
gether, 

With but one plank between us and 
destruction, 

That I might grasp him in these desper- 
ate arms, 

To plunge him midst the stormy billows, 

And view him gasp for life. 



LIKE JOB. 



if 



Like Job, I one time had three friends, 
And they, dear friends, had money; 

Says I, " Help me to unite ends. " 
Say they, " Not muchly, sonny. 



IDLENESS. 

Waste not thy spring of youth 
In idle dalliance; but plant rich seeds, 
To blossom in thy manhood, that may 
bear fruit 
When you are gray with age. 



FRIEND OF MY YOUTH. 

Friend of my youth! when young we 
roved, 

Like striplings mutually beloved, 
With friendship's purest glow. 
The bliss which winged those rosy hours, 
Was such as pleasure seldom showers 
On mortals here below. 

The recollection seems alone, 
Dearer than all the joys I've known, 

When distant far from you; 
Though pain 'tis still a pleasing pain, 
To trace those days and hours again, 

And sigh again, adieu! 

My pensive memory lingers o'er 
Those scenes, to be enjoyed no more, 

Those scenes regretted ever; 
The measure of our youth is full, 
Life's evening dream is dark and dull, 

And we may meet — ah, never! 

Not for a moment may you stray 
From truth's secure, unerring way, 

May no delights decoy; 
O'er roses may your footsteps move, 
Your smiles be ever smiles of love, 

Your tears be tears of joy. 

Oh! if you wish that happiness 

Your coming years and days may bless, 

And virtues crown your brow; 
Be still as you were wont to be, 
Spotless as you've been known to me, 

Be still as you are now. 

Our vital streams of weal or woe, 
Though near, alas! distinctly flow, 

Nor mingle as before; 
Now swift or slow, now black or clear, 
'Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear, 

And both shall quit the shore. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




JUSTICE. 

Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, 

dumb, 
But vengeance is behind, and justice is to 
come. 



PROSAIC POETRY. 

I clasped her tiny hand in mine; I clasped 

her beauteous form; 
I vowed to shield her from the wind, and 

from the world's cold storm. 
She set her beauteous eyes on me, the 

tears did wildly flow, 
And with her little lips she said: "You 

stupid ! let me go." 



CHANGES. 



Like one who hears with sudden throb of 
sadness 
The lingering cadence of an old refrain, 
Which wakes the echoes of some van- 
ished gladness 

With tender pain, 

So stand I now, with mingled pain and 
pleasure, 
After long absence at a well-known 
door, 
Which guarded once my darling, my 
heart's treasure, 

In days of yore. 

Still bloom the roses with their old-time 
sweetness, 
Round this dear cottage in my native 
land, 
Trimmed is the hedge with all its wonted 
neatness ; 

The old elms stand. 

Still slopes the lawn in beautiful grada- 
tion, 
Like a soft carpet of the richest green; 
Still leaps the fountain with its light 
pulsation, 

Brightening the scene. 




Years have not changed it; now, as then, 
the river 
Winds in the distance like a silver 
stream; 
Through the old orchard still the sun- 
beams quiver, 

And brightly gleam. 

Ah! but no voice of sweetest modulation, 
Nor rippling laughter greets my listen- 
ing ear; 
All the bright scene but breathes in des- 
olation, 

"She is not here!" 

" Not here ! Not here ! " the murmuring 
elm trees sigh it, 
The rustling grass repeats it 'neath my 
feet, 
Her cherished roses mournfully reply it 
In odors sweet. 

O'er the soft lawn the shadows, westward 
creeping, 
Darkly enfold me at the rose-girt door; 
In deeper shadows lies my dear love 
sleeping, 

To wake no more. 



A LETTER. 



I wrote a letter to my lady-love, 

'Twas filled with words of keen desire; 

I hoped to raise a flame, and so I did — 
The cruel girl, she put it in the fire. 



FORGIVING. 



Though my vows I can pour 
To my Mary no more, 

My Mary I loved once so dear. 
In the shade of her bower, 
I remember the hour, 

She rewarded those vows with a tear. 

By another possessed, 
May she live ever blest, 

Her name still my heart must revere; 
With a sigh I resign 
What I thought was once mine, 

And forgive her deceit with a tear, 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




MAIDENS, LIKE MOTHS. 

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by 
glare, 

And Mammon wins his way where Ser- 
aphs might despair. 



THOMPSON GREEN AND HARRIET 
HALE. 

One Thompson Green, I may remark, 
Met Harriet Hale in Central Park, 
Where he, in a casual kind of way, 
Spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the 
day. 

They met again, and strange, though 

true, 
He courted her for a month or two, 
Then to her pa he said, said he, 
" Old man, I love your daughter, and 

your daughter worships me. " 

Their names were regularly banned, 
Their wedding day was settled, and 
I've ascertained by dint of search, 
They were married on the quiet at Saint 
Mary Abbott's church. 

In time came those maternal joys, 
Which take the form of girls and boys, 
And, strange to say, of each they'd one, 
A pretty little daughter and a pretty little 
son. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

There is no friend like the old friend, 

who has shared our morning days ! 
No greeting like his welcome, no homage 

like his praise! 
Fame is the scentless flower, with gaudy 

crown of gold ! 
But friendship is the breathing rose, with 

sweets in every fold. 




NO WOMAN SHOULD BORROW. 

No woman should borrow the husband 
of another, because it is not good for a 
man to be a loan. 



LOSS. 

Life knows no winter when the heart ii 
light; 
Tho' skies are gray and dull the wan- 
ing year; 
Mid cloud and gloom the world is fair 
and bright, 
For all is summer when one smile is 
here. 

Life knows no summer when the heart is 
sad, 
Tho' skies are blue, and fields with ver- 
dure grown; 
Can song or blossom make the world seem 
glad 
Ah, no; 'tis winter when one smile is 
flown. 



BED ROCK. 



The fact is, when you get to bed rock 
in a girl's affections there will be no use 
prospecting any further. 



SAMPSON. 



Sampson brought down the house, but 
nobody called for an encore. 



THE FIRST MAN. 

The first man was daped, the first wo- 
man deceived her husband, and the first 
child turned out a murderer. Such were 
the origins of humanity, and yet people 
affect to be surprised that the world is no 
better than it is. 



THE SEA HOLDS. MINERVA. 

The sea holds many an isle to its great 
heart, 
But each isle knows and loves a single 
sea; 
I know no life from thy dear life apart, 
I lay down all the world can give but 
thee. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE. 

Oh, what a thing is love, it cometh from 
above 
And liteth like a dove, on some. 
But some it never hits, except to give 
them fits, 
And paralyze their wits, oh, hum. 



HOW CAN A WOMAN TELL? 

He told me his love this morning, 
With his dear hand clasped in mine, 

And he said, " God speed the dawning 
When, darling, I'll call thee mine." 

But my fond heart questioned softly, 
Though loving him true and well, 

Will his love outlast all changes? 
Ah! how can a woman tell? 



ELOQUENCE AND CHARMS. 

There's a charm in delivery, a magical 
art, 

That thrills like a kiss from the lip to the 
heart; 

'Tis the look, the expression, the well- 
chosen word, 

By whose magic and power our feelings 
are stirr'd. 

'Tis the smile, with the gesture — the soul- 
stirring pause — 

The eye's sweet expression, that melts 
while it awes — 

The kind, soft persuasion, and musical 
tone — 

Oh ! such are the charms of my darling, 
my own. 



WHY. 



It is a curious thing, although a fact, 
that girls never learn to play marbles. 
Nothing curious about it, replied a wo- 
man-hater. The sex, even at that age, 
are too stuck up to knuckle down. 



TOO OFTEN THE CASE. 

To gain her passing fancy 't was I swore, 
In language set in tender vows and 
sighs. 
I loved her more than man e'er loved he- 
fore: 
And she believed my lies. 

Although she loved me not, her heart was 
stirred 

With pity for my wild, fictitious woe; 
And never in my love-life have I heard 

A more delicious u No!" 

What had I done had she not answered 
No? 
Why, married her, of course ! 't is noth- 
ing queer; 
One sees false-hearted lovers marry so 
A thousand times a year. 



YET ONCE AGAIN. 

List to the strains that I murmured so 
lonely, 
Yet once again by thy side let me be; 
Here, quite alone, let me tell to thee only, 
The love that for years I have cher- 
ished for thee. 



BYGONES. 



Let bygones be bygones, if bygones were 
clouded 
By ought that occasioned a pang of re- 
gret, 
Oh! let them in darkest oblivion be 
shrouded; 
'T is wise, and 't is kind to forgive and 
forget. 

Let bygones be bygones, and good be ex- 
tracted 
From ills over which it is folly to fret; 
The wisest of mortals have foolishly 
acted — 
The kindest are those who forgive and 
forget. 








A BOOK OF POEMS 



95 






SENSIBLE. 

Let each other mind his own affairs, 
And leave his friends alone; 

And while we 're in a house of glass 
Don't let us throw a stone. 



MY DREAM OF LOVE IS O'ER. 

0, we 've parted from each other, 
And our dream of love is o'er, 

That bright dream was too beautiful to 
last, 
And we '11 meet as only strangers 
In the future evermore; 

Our once tender love is buried in the past. 

Ah! the heart is like the tide, 
That flows and ebbs at will, 
A nd I would not cease to love thee if I 
could; 
Through all the future years 
I '11 love thee dearly still, 
For I could not cease to love thee if I 
would. 



WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS. 

When the black-lettered list to the Gods 
was presented — 

The list of what fate for each mortal in- 
tends — 

At the long string of ills a kind goddess 
relented, 

And slipped in three blessings — wife, 
children, and friends. 

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger 
hands vested, 

The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy 
ends, 

But the heart issues bills which are never 
protested, 
When drawn on the firm of Wife, Chil- 
dren, and Friends. 




HIGHLAND MARY. 

She's double X and superfine; 
I wish that she was truly mine. 



WITH FRIENDS ALL AROUND. 

With friends all around and the girl you 

admire, 
What else is there left in this world to 

desire ? 



IOLANTHE. 



The spell is past, the dream is o'er, 
And tho' we meet, we love no more. 



I CANNOT FORGET THEE. 

I will not forget thee, ah ! never! no never! 

I cannot forget thee, I know; 
Thy smile, like a phantom, shall haunt me 
forever, 

And cheer me where'er I may go. 



A FAREWELL. 

And so we cast aside our cherished friend- 
ship, 
And so I cease to call you even friend, 
And so I bury from all sight and hearing 
The memory of this friendship, and its 
end. 

Without a shadow of regretful passion 
Without lament, with heart still glad 
and strong, 
I give you back the treasure that you gave 
me, 
The jewel that I valued well and long. 

If you have caused me pain you are for- 
given, 
If you have grieved me, it is over now; 
If I have found you fickle and false- 
hearted, 
You will forget — no grief need cloud 
your brow. 

We will do noble work, tho' not together, 

And when, sometime, men dwell upon 

your fame, 

And pay just tribute to your worth and 

wisdom, 

I shall rejoice at mention of your name. 



irr 



ffk 



96 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE REASON WHY. 

'T was not for your fairy-like figure, 
Nor yet for your angel-like face; 

'T was not for your title of heiress, 
Nor yet for your exquisite grace. 

'T was not for those meaningless whispers 
That tell with such musical sound, 

Nor because of the envious glances 
Of wall-flowers and mashers around. 

'T was not for the form of your waltzing, 
Nor gleam in your dangerous eye; 

Such charms I could quickly relinquish 
Without e'er a pang or a sigh. 

For none of these things I adored you — 
Though all of an unsurpassed type — 

But 't was for the hair-pin you gave me 
When parting, to clean out my pipe. 



MARY AND HER LITTLE RAM. 

Mollie had a little ram as black as a rub- 
ber shoe, 

And everywhere that Mollie went he 
emigrated, too. 

He went with her to church one day — 
the folks hilarious grew, 

To see him walk demurely into Deacon 
Allen's pew. 

The worthy Deacon quickly let his angry 
passions rise, 

And gave him an unchristian kick be- 
tween his dark brown eyes. 

This landed rammy in the aisle; the Dea- 
con followed fast, 

And raised his foot again: Alas! that first 
kick was his last. 

For Mr. Sheep walked slowly back, about 

a rod, 't is said, 
And ere the Deacon could retreat it stood 

him on his head. 



The congregation then arose and went 

for that ere sheep; 
But several well-directed buts just piled 

them in a heap. 

Then rushed they straightway from the 
door with curses long and loud, 

While rammy struck the hindmost man, 
and shot him through the crowd. 

The minister had often heard that kind- 
ness would subdue 

The fiercest beast. "Ah a !" he says, " I '11 
try that game on you." 

And so he kindly, gently called: "Come, 

rammy, rammy, ram; 
To see the folks abuse you so, I grieved 

and sorry am." 

With kind and gentle words he came from 

that tall pulpit down, 
Saying, "Rammy, rammy, rammy, ram; 

best sheepy in the town." 

The ram quite dropped its humble air, and 

rose him off his feet; 
And when the parson lit he was beneath 

the hindmost seat. 

As he shot madly out the door, and closed 

it with a slam, 
He named a California town — I think 

'twas "Yuba Dam." 

—Unknown Liar. 



LULU. 



Keep a stiff upper lip, girl, and never say 

die, 
The present beats hollow the " Sweet 

Bye-and-Bye." 



MARY, 



When from each other we '11 be parted, 
your dear face I may not see; 

Dearest, do not be sad-hearted, for the 
flowers will speak of thee. 



W 






THE NOONDAY SIESTA. 








A BOOK OF POEMS 




DRIFTED AWAY. 

We had a little quarrel, she and I; 

We thought to mend our quarrel, by and 

by; 
But we made such long delay, 
The forgiving word to say, 
That we drifted far away, 
She and I. 



NEVER WAS A COUPLE PROUDER. 

Madeline, a perfect coquette; Lulu, fair- 
est of the fair; 

Laughing Jean, and gold-haired Chloris, 
modest Kate, and tricky Clare. 

Never was a couple prouder of the lot de- 
creed by fate 

In the way of lovely daughters, than John 
Kemble and his mate. 



A SWEET GOOD NIGHT. 

Good night, he said, and he held her hand 

In a hesitating way, 
And hoped that her eyes would understand 

What his tongue refused to say. 

He held her hand and he murmured low: 

" I 'm sorry to go like this, 
It seems so frigidly cool, you know, 

This 'Mister' of ours and 'Miss.'" 

I thought, perchance — and he paused to 
note 
If she seemed inclined to frown, 
But the smile on her lips his heart-strings 
smote, 
As he longingly looked down. 

She spoke no word, but she picked a speck 
Of dust from his coat lapel — 

So small, such a wee, little, tiny fleck — 
'T was a wonder she saw so well. 

But it brought her face so very near, 

In that dim and uncertain light, 
That the thought, unspoken, was made 
quite clear, 
And I know 't was a " Sweet Good- 
Night." 




ORIGIN OF THE HARP. 

'T is believed that this harp, which I wake 

now for thee, 
Was a siren of old, who sung under the 

sea; 
And who often, at eve, through the bright 

billow roved, 
To meet on the green shore a youth whom 

she loved. 

But she loved him in vain, for he left her 
to weep, 

And in tears all the night her gold ring- 
lets to steep, 

Till Heaven looked with pity on true-love 
so warm, 

And changed to this soft harp the sea- 
maiden's form. 

Still her bosom rose fair — still her cheek 

smiled the same — 
While her sea-beauties gracefully curled 

round the frame; 
And her hair shedding tear-drops from all 

its bright rings, 
Fell o'er her white arm, to make the gold 

strings! 

Hence it came, that this soft harp so long 

hath been known 
To mingle loves language with sorrow's 

sad tone; 
Till thou didst divide them, and teach 

the fond lay 
To be love when I 'm near thee, and grief 

when away! 



THE MOTHER'S HAND. 

And oft when half induced to tread 
Such paths as unto sin decoy, 

I 've felt her fond hand press my head, 
And that soft touch hath saved her boy. 



FORTUNE. 



Fortune, men say, doth give too much to 

many, 
But she never yet has giv'n enough to 

any. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




FOR A WHILE. 

Farewell, then — for a while, farewell- 
Pride of my heart! 
It cannot be that long we dwell, 

Thus torn apart. 
Time's shadows like the shuttle flee, 
And dark howe'er life's night may be, 
Beyond the grave I '11 meet with thee, 
Casa Wappy. 



SOME MEN. 



Some men are born with wisdom much, 

and others born as fools; 
I Ve often seen the latter use the former 
ones as tools. 



WIFE TO HUSBAND. 

Linger not long. Home is not home 
without thee; 
Its dearest tokens do but make me 
mourn. 
0, let its memory like a chain about thee, 
Gently compel and hasten thy return! 

Linger not long. Though crowds should 
woo thy staying, 
Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy 
friends, though dear, 
Compensate for the grief thy long delay- 
ing 
Costs the fond heart that sighs to have 
thee here? 

Linger not long. How shall I watch thy 
coming, 
As evening shadows stretch o'er moor 
and dell; 
When the wild bee hath ceased her busy 
humming, 
And silence hangs on all things like a 
spell. 

How shall I watch for thee when fears 
grow stronger, 
As night grows dark and darker on the 
hill! 
How shall I weep when I can watch no 
longer! 
Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent 
still? 



Yet I shall grieve not, though the eye that 
seeth me 
Graze th through tears that make its 
splendor dull, 
For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art 
with me, 
My cup of happiness is all too full. 

Haste, haste thee home unto thy mountain 
dwelling, 
Haste as a bird unto its peaceful nest! 
Haste as a skiff, through tempests wide 
and swelling, 
Flies to its haven of securest rest. 



NOTHING TO WEAR. 

A case of a bride has been brought to my 
view, 

Too sad to believe, but alas! it is true, 

Whose husband refused, as you may de- 
pend on, 

To permit her to take more than ten trunks 
to Sharon. 

The consequence was that when she got 
there, 

At the end of three weeks she had nothing 
to wear; 

And when she proposed to finish the sea- 
son 

At Newport, the monster refused out and 
out, 

For his infamous conduct alleging no rea- 
son, 

Except that the waters were good for his 
gout. 

Such treatment as this was too shocking, 

of course, 
And proceedings are now going on for 

divorce. 



KISSING. 



There was a young lady in Lynn, 
Who said she thought kissing a synn: 
But when her new beau 
Tried to see if 't was so, 
She said: " 0, please, do it agynn." 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




MONEY IS KING. 

" Money is King, 1 ' all men agree; 

But in our hearts a woman reigns, 
And we with them can happy be, 

For true love breaks all tyrant's chains. 
Then fill ye up 
The drinking cup, 
Pledge with ruby wine! 
Here 's to the girls, 
With bangs and curls, 
May one of them be mine. 



THE SINGING SCHOOL; 

Joy is a wealth not hard to secure; ■ 

Its bounteous streams flow free for 
all. 
They who lack it are very poor, 

For torrents upon the poorest fall. 
For pleasure we meet in this little house, 

Regardless of mud or roads unknown, 
Girls afraid of a " horrid mouse, " 

Boys afraid to go home alone. 



THE JESTER'S SERMON. 

" Dear sinners all," the fool began, " man's 

life is but a jest, 
A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor 

at the best. 
In a thousand pounds of law I find not 

a single ounce of love; 
A blind man killed the parson's cow in 

shooting at the dove; 
The fool that eats till he is sick must fast 

till he is well; 
The wooer who can flatter most will bear 

away the belle. 

" Let no man halloo he is safe till he is 

through the wood; 
He who will not when he may, must tarry 

when he should; 
He who laughs at crooked men should 

need walk very straight; 
0, he who once has won a name may lie 

abed till eight; 
Make haste to purchase house and land, 

be very slow to wed; 
True coral needs no painter's brush, nor 

need be daubed with red." 



Then loud they laughed, the fat cook's 

tears ran down into the pan; 
The steward shook, that he was forced to 

drop the brimming can; 
And then again the women screamed, and 

every stag-hound bayed; 
And why? because the motley fool so wise 

a sermon made. 



TO ROMANCE. 

Parent of golden dreams, Romance! 

Auspicious queen of childish joys! 
Who lead 'st along in airy dance, 

The votive train of girls and boys; 
At length, in spells no longer bound, 

I break the fetters of my youth, 
No more I tread thy mystic round, 

But leave thy realms for those of truth. 

And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams 

Which haunt the unsuspicious soul, , 
Where every nymph a goddess seems, 

Whose eyes through rays immortal 
roll: 
While fancy holds her boundless reign, 

And all assumes a varied hue, 
When virgins seem no longer vain, ' 

And even woman's smiles are true. 

And must we own thee but a name, 

And from thy hall of clouds descend; 
Nor find a sylph in every dame, 

A Pylades in every friend; 
But leave at once thy realms of air, 

To mingling bands of fairy elves, 
Confess that woman's false as fair, 

And friends have feelings for — them- 
selves. 



IT IS ALL ONE IN VENUS' 
WANTON SCHOOL. 

It is all one in Venus' Avanton school, 
Who highest sits, the wise man or the 
fool — 

Fools in love's college 

Have far more knowledge 

To read a woman over, 

Than a neat-prating lover 

Nay 'tis confest 

That fools please women best. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I LAUGH AT SHOW. 

Jewels are bubbles; 'tis a sin 

To care for sucb unfruitful things. 

One good sized diamond in a pin, — 
Some, not so large, in rings, — 

A ruby, and a pearl or so, 

Will do for me; I laugh at show. 



WHEN I SEE SOME DARK HILL. 

When I see some dark hill point its crest 
to the sky, 
I think of the rocks that o'ershadow 
Colbleen; 
When I see the soft blue of a love-speak- 
ing eye, 
I think of those eyes that endear'd the 
rude scene. 
When, haply, some light-waving locks I 
behold, 
That faintly resemble my Mary's in 
hue, 
I think ou the long-flowing ringlets of 
gold, 
The locks that were sacred to beauty 
and you. 

Yet the day may arrive when the moun- 
tains once more, 
Shall rise to my sight in their mantles 
of snow; 
But while these soar above me, unchanged 
as before, 
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah! 
no. 
Adieu! then, ye hills, where my childhood 
was bred, 
Thou sweet-flowing Dee, to thy waters 
adieu ! 
No home in the forest shall shelter my 
head; 
Ah! Mary, what home could be mine 
but with you? 



SWANS SING. 

Swans sing before they die — 't were no 
bad thing 
, Did certain persons die before they sing. 



FAREWELL. 

Dearest, farewell! I will not ask one part 
Of sad remembrance in so young a heart. 
The coming morrow from thy youthful 

mind 
Will sweep my name, nor leave a trace 

behind. 



'T IS ONLY A VIOLET. 

'T is only a violet, only a flower, 

Once bright and blooming, but with- 
ered at last; 

Ah! now it is faded, drooping and dying, 
Still I will keep it for love of the past. 

Ah! well I remember, one summer even- 
in O" 

Well I remember one happy hour — 
Darling, my lost one; darliug, my fair 

one, 
Gave me this blossom, this sweet little 

flower. 

'Tis only a violet treasured forever, 
Kept for the love of my darling, my 
own; 
And tho' it is faded, still I remember 
How once it blossomed in bright days 
now flown. 

I'll lay it away, my treasure, my violet, 
Lay it beside the brown lock of hair; 

Darling my fair one, darling my lost one, 
Gave me this blossom, once blooming 
so fair. 



A PICTURE. 



The baby on the floor, 
With tiny hands closed o'er her pearly 

toes, 
Watches the fire-blaze as it comes and 

goes, 
And wonders more and more 
Whence comes the red light on the snowy 

feet, 
And strives to catch it in her fingers 

sweet. 




4^ 

102 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ONE SIDE. 

Face, manly and noble, 

Tender and kind, 
To domestic virtues 

Strongly inclined. 
Clean-mouthed and kissable — 

Emphasize here — 
No trace of tobacco, 

No smell of beer. 
Cigars, no objection, 

Dog or a horse 
Will share his amusements, 

With wife, of course. 
Fine figure, athletic, 

Firm and erect, 
By nature intended 

For God's elect. 
Well read and enlightened, 

Up with the times, 
Congenial companion, 

Maker of dimes. 
A woman's reliance, 

Come storm or shine, 
Idea of home, more 

Than good place to dine. 
Not tempted to revels, 

Coming in late; 
He must some virtues 

Reciprocate. 
Free from profanity. 

Heart without guile, 
Pure, without innocence, 

That is the style 



Young man of such a stamp, 

(Better go slow) 
The kind I describe, 

Scarce is, you know. 



I HAVE A WIFE. 

The husband said, I have a wife, 

She is neither rich nor fair; 
She has not gold, nor gear, nor land, 

Nor a wealth of nut-brown hair; 
But oh! she loves me! and her love 

Has stood through every test; 
Beauty and gold are good, but, friends, 

We know that love is best. 




THE OTHER SIDE. 

Face intellectual — 

Color and tone — 
All the accompaniments, 

Really home grown. 
Eyes — here I hesitate — 

Rather like blue; 
Black not an obstacle, 

Hazel will do. 
Figure that's squeezable, 

Plump, but not fat, 
Steer clear of scragginess, 

Could not stand that. 
Quiet and lady-like, 

Dressing with taste; 
Ankle displayable, 

Neat little waist. 
Round of home duties 

Her element quite; 
Pie-crust especially, 

Warranted light. 
Common accomplishments, 

But, in a word, 
Those of the useful kind 

Greatly preferred. 
Lady of such a stamp, 

Wanting a beau, 
Strictly in confidence, 

Knows where to go. 
Lots of nice girls there be, 

Names I could tell, 
Know how to cook beefsteak, 

Pie-crust as well. 



Musical, squeezable, 

Loving and true, 
Would suit the most men, 

Perhaps even you. 



PRISCILLA. 



When together we bent o'er your nose- 
gay for hours, 

You explained what was silently said by 
the flowers; 

And selecting the sweetest of all, sent a 
flame 

Through my heart, as, in laughing, you 
mentioned my name. 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



103 



d% 



LOSS. 

Count that day lost whose low descend- 
ing sun 

Views from thy hand no worthy action 
done. 



TO A DEAR FRIEND. 

Oh ! yes, I will own we were dear to each 
other, 
The friendships of childhood, though 
fleeting, are true; 
The love Avhich you felt was the love of 
a brother, 
Nor less the affection I cherished for 
you. 

But friendship can vary her gentle do- 
minion, 
The attachment of years in a moment 
expires, 
Like love, too, she moves on a swift wav- 
ing pinion, 
But glows not like love with unquench- 
able fires. 

However, dear S , for I still must 

esteem you — 
The few whom I love I can never 
upbraid — 
The chance, which has lost, may in future 
redeem you; 
Repentance will cancel the vow you 
have made. 

I will not complain, and though chilled 
is affection, 
With me no corroding resentment shall 
live; 
My bosom is calmed by the simple reflec- 
tion, 
That both may be wrong, and that both 
should forgive. 

You knew that my soul, my heart, my 
existence, 
If danger demanded, were wholly your 
own; 
You knew me unalter'd by years or by 
distance, 
Devoted to love and to friendship 
alone. 




You knew, but away with the vain retro- 
spection, 
The bond of affection no longer en- 
dures; 
Too late you may droop o'er the fond 
recollection, 
And sigh for the friend who was 
formerly yours. 

For the present we part, I will hope not 
forever, 
For time and regret may restore you at 
last; 
To restore our dissension we both should 
endeavor; 
I ask no atonement but days like the 
past. 



I DREAM OF THEE. 

I dream of thee, and sleep becomes 
The spring-time of untold delight; 

While heaven, which lingers far away 
By day, comes near me in the night. 

I dream of thee, and life becomes 

A blessing fraught with nameless bliss; 

Till angels in their starry homes 
Might envy me the joys of this. 

The daylight fades, — soft shadows fall — 
Care spares me till to-morrow morn; 

While sleep o'ertints with love and light 
Night's visions, brighter than the dawn. 

I love the night, for starry hours, 
For quiet thought, and peaceful rest; 

But when it brings a dream of thee, 
Oh, then the night indeed is blessed! 

'T is said this life is but a dream — 

I would that such my life might be: — 

A lingering dream of countless years, 
If 'twere a dream of love and thee! 



MAY THY FAIR BOSOM. 

May thy fair bosom never know 
What 'tis to feel the restless woe, 
Which stings the soul with vain regret, 
Of him — who never can forget. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




IF YOU HAVE A FRIEND. 

If you have a friend worth loving, 
Love him, yes, and let him know 

That you love him, ere life's evening 
Tinge bis brow with sunset glow, 

Wh} r should good words ne'er be said 

Of a friend till he is dead. 



CURE FOR SCANDAL. 

Take of the toad the brains and ear-wax; 
bring 

The spider's fang, the adder's poison 
sting; 

A lizard's eye-balls, tarantula's tongue; 

The cbigre's eggs, the fire-fly's maggot 
young; 

Of newt the iris, armadillo's gall; 

Cockchafer's grub, and scorpion, sting 
and all; 

Two buzzard's beaks, first hardened in 
the fire; 

Four famished serpents just ready to ex- 
pire; 

A living asp, which sure the fang in- 
cludes; 

A Salamander fluid, that exudes; 

A flea's proboscis, and a viper's eyes; 

Four printed scandals, three detected lies; 

A beetle's head, a locust's palate dried; 

And ten mosquitoes snouts in strychnine 
fried ; 

A wasp's stiletto; flying-dragon's ears; 

These saturate with alligator's tears — 

With alcohol then simmer in the skull 

Of a black ape; fill the vessel full — 

Reduce the mass, and add one screech- 
owl's eye; 

The manis' tongue, cantharides the fly; 

A coquette's dimples, and a flunkey's nose, 

An idiot's brains, an hideous hydra's toes; 

A hornet's armor, and a wild boar's foam, 

A polecat's odor, and a Shanghai's comb 

(Harmless this last ingredient I trust, 

Save that a coxcomb always gives dis- 
gust;) 

The burning froth from hydrophobia's 
maw, 

A dragon's blood, a scolopendriclse's claw; 

Chameleon's thorax, monad's marrow, 
fine; 




A moth, a weevil, and an earwig's spine. 

Into the cauldron two apes' eyebrows 
fling 

And fan the contents with a vampire's 
wing. 

Stir, stir the jelly with Attilla's steel, 

His blood-stained dagger let the slanderer 
feel. 

Apply this mixture to the slanderer's 
tongue, 

Moistened with tears from slandered vir- 
tue wrung; 

And should one dose of this prescrption 
fail, 

And the dire venom of his tongue pre- 
vail, 

Just add a section of the slanderer's tale. 

Should the concocted poisons fail of cure, 

The last named virus, added, will be sure. 



THE MARRIED SCHOLAR. 

A scholar, newly entered marriage life, 
Following his study, did offend his wife, 
Because when she his company expected, 
By bookish business, she, was still neg- 
lected: 
Coming unto his study, " Lord," quoth 

she, 
" Can papers cause you love them more 

than me? 
I would I were transform'd into a book, 
That your affection might upon me look; 
But in my wish withal be it decreed, 
I would be such a book you love to read. 
Husband," quoth she, " which book's 

form should I take? " 
" Mary," said he, " 't were best an alma- 
nack: 
The reason wherefore I do wish thee so, 
Is every year we have a new, you know. 



IS THERE AUGHT LIKE THIS? 

And under the heaven is there aught like 
to this, 

When the lips that we love yield the rap- 
turous kiss, 

And songs fill the heart that grows wild 
in its bliss? 




1^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



105 c 



TO A YOUNG MAN. 

If for a maiden young and fair, 

Your heart in fondness melts, 
Who talks of dress and diamond rings, 

And thinks of nothing else; 
Who hates to do a stroke of work, 

But loves to sing and play, 
Give up all thoughts of wedding her, 

You'll never make it pay. 



SONG. MY WINIFREDA. 

Away! let nought to loye displeasing, 
My Winifreda, move your care; 

Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. 

What though no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood, 

We '11 shine in more substantial honors, 
And to be noble, we '11 be good. 

Our name while virtue thus we tender, 
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke, 

And all the great ones they shall wonder 
How they respect such little folk. 

What though from fortune's lavish 
bounty, 

No mighty treasures we possess; 
We '11 find, within our pittance, plenty, 

And be content without excess. 

Still shall each kind returning season 
Sufficient for our wishes give; 

For we live a life of reason, 

And that 's the only life to live. 

Through youth and age, in love excel- 
ling, 
We'll hand in hand together tread; 
Sweet smiling peace shall crown our 
dwelling, 
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our 
bed. 

How should I love the pretty creatures, 
While round my knees they fondly 
clung! 
To see them look their mother's features, 
To hear them lisp their mother's 
tongue! 




And when with envy, Time transported, 
Shall think to rob us of our joys; 

You '11 in your girls again be courted, 
And I'll go wooing in my boys. 



THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 

Then, my good girls, be more than women 

wise, 
At least be more than I was: and be sure 
You credit any thing the light gives light 

to, 
Before a man. Rather believe the sea 
Weeps for the ruined merchant when he 

roars ; 
Rather the wind courts but the pregnant 

sails 
When the strong cordage cracks; rather 

the sun 
Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy 

autumn, 
When all falls blasted. If you needs 

must love, 
Forced by ill fate, take to your maiden 

bosoms 
Two dead cold aspics, and of them make 

lovers; 
They cannot flatter nor forswear; one 

kiss 
Makes a long peace for all. Bat man, — 
Oh that beast man! Come, let's be sad, 

my girls. 



TO ELIZA. 



Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect, 
Who to woman deny the future ex- 
istence! 
Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own 
their defect, 
And this doctrine would meet with a 
gen'ral resistance. 

Had their prophet possessed half an atom 
of sens 3. 
He ne'er would have women from 
Paradise driven, 
Instead of his houris — a flimsy pretense — 
With women alone he had peopled his 
heaven. 




106 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




FROM THE FRENCH. 

If for silver or for gold, 

You could melt ten thousand pimples 

Into half a dozen dimples, 
Then your face we might behold, 

Looking, doubtless, much more snugly; 

Yet even then 'twould be d — nd ugly. 



IMPROMPTU. 

Beneath ***'s eyes, 
The reclaim 'd Paradise 

Should be free as the former from evil; 
But if the new Eve 
For an apple should grieve, 

What mortal would not play the devil. 



O'ER MOORLANDS AND MOUN- 
TAINS. 

O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, bar- 
ren, and bare; 
As wilder'd and wearied I roam, 
A gentle young shepherdess sees my des- 
pair 
And leads me — o'er lawns — to her 
home: 

Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cot- 
tage had crowned, 
Green rushes were strew'd on the floor, 
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wan- 
tonly round, 
And deck'd the sod seats at her door. 

We sate ourselves down to a cooling re- 
past, 
Fresh fruits, and she culled me the best; 
While thrown from my guard by some 
glances she cast, 
Love slyly stole into my breast! 

I told my soft wishes; she sweetly re- 
plied, 
(Ye virgins, her voice was divine!) 
" I 've rich ones rejected, and great ones 
denied, 
But take me, fond shepherd — I'm 
thine." 

If 



Her air was so modest, her aspect so 
meek; 
So simple, yet sweet were her charms! 
I kissed the ripe roses that glow'd on her 
cheek, 
And lock'd the loved maid in my arms. 



ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 

One summer night I stood with thee 

Beneath a full unclouded moon; 
My young heart then was wild with glee, 

And basked in pleasure's golden noon. 
My dark hair fell in waving showers 

Upon my neck and o'er my brow, 
All gemmed with pearls, and wreathed 
with flowers, 

Their fragrance seems around me now. 

A rosebud from my bosom fell, 

As thus beneath the moon we stood; 
And thou — ah! I remember well — 

Did'st raise and kiss the unconscious 
bud. 
But not unconscious was the heart 

Forever thine — forever true; 
And in that hour the wish would start 

That I had been a rosebud too. 



LILY. 

A half blown rose, with petals fair, 

May charm some lover's eyes, 
While some behold in pansies rare 

The gems of Paradise. 
Some in the daisy's pearls and gold 

Serenest beauty see; 
A Lily, twenty-two years old, 

Is good enough for me. 



LELIA. 



Many a time in the mazy ring, 

We tripped with light fantastic feet, 
Often on her father's gate we'd swing, 

Talking in accents low and sweet. 
We talked as lovers have talked of old, 

And little thought of worldly gain, 
Laughing she said, " You'll have to hold 

Me, 'cause I'm standing on the chain." 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




BEWARE. 

Beware of the maid with freckled arms; 

Steer clear of a sawyer's hoss and saw; 
Avoid dude clerks with ten cent charms, 

Sod corn whiskey, and mothers-in-law. 



THAT MEETING. 

Sweet girl! though only once we met, 
That meeting I shall ne'er forget. 



TO IRENE. 



In the cheerless gloom of my silent room, 

I am sitting alone, Irene, 
While the frozen rain on my window 

pane, 
With a sorrowful cadence comes drifting 

amain, 
And the merciless winds of the night con- 
strain, 
And I 'm thinking of thee, Irene! 

Yes! my thoughts take flight through 
the dismal night 
To the beautiful home, Irene, 
Where a stranger guest, at the kind be- 
hest 
Of her whom the loveliest charms invest, 
I was welcomed to more than the tongue 
confessed, 
Or my heart dare hope, Irene. 

0, the kind regard which the fair award, 

I can never forget, Irene! 
And a nameless spell, like a mystic knell 
Which is born in the breast of the ocean 

shell, 
From the innermost depths of my heart 
will swell 
With the memory of thee, Irene! 

And beaming afar, like a rising star, 

Is the artist's hope, Irene! 
Through the lonely night, while its rays 

invite, 
I will struggle along to that distant light, 
That its beautiful splendor may shed de- 
light 
On the maid of my choice, Irene. 




And may I not deem that my passionate 
dream 
Holds the essence of truth, Irene? 
Then the rain may beat, and the driveling 

sleet 
Come drifting along in a frozen sheet, 
But my heart broods a melody low and 
sweet, 
That I'd breathe to but one, Irene! 



HER GLOVE. 

It is the glove she wore so long ago, 
That fitted daintily her hand of snow, — 
The hand whose clasp it was such joy to 
know. 

She was a being radiant as the dawn, 
When it comes forth with flush of glory 

on; 
0, how like night it was when she was- 

gone! 

She was the queen of all our festive 

mirth; 
To win her smile our greatest care was- 

worth, 
For never was a sweeter smile on earth. 

How beauteous flowed down to her 

shoulders fair 
The glorious wealth of her abundant hair r 
Shading a face such as the angels wear. 

Her name was Emily, a treasured name; 
My pulses thrill whene'er I hear the 

same, 
I sprang to meet her whensoe'er she came. 

This glove has brought her back so clear 

to-day, 
Until her presence doth around me play t 
As if her spirit had just passed this way. 

Some years have gone since clods pressed 

coldly down 
Upon, those starry eyes of softest brown, 
But seas of time cannot her memory 

drown. 

Spanned by the river of returnless tide, 
The space between us is not far nor wide; 
I hope to meet her on the other side. 

"hi 



)* 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




STELLA. 

Now should a cold and cruel fate. 

Lead us in paths diverging, 
I hope that in the " future state, " 

Friendship will need no urging. 
That while life's tempest on you pours, 

You may have an umbrella 
To shield you through its stormy hours, 

And one to hold it — Stella. 



BE IT SO. 




Be it so, we part forever! 

Let the past as nothing be; 
Had I only loved thee, never 

Had'st thou been thus dear to me. 

Once I fondly, proudly, deem'd thee 
All that fancy's self could paint. 

Once T honor'd and esteem'd thee, 
As my idol and my saint. 

More than woman thou wast to me; 

Not as man I look'd on thee; 
Why, like woman, then undo me? 

Why heap man's worst curse on me. 

Wast thou but a friend, assuming 

Friendship's smile and woman's art, 
And, in borrowed beauty blooming, 

Trifling with a trusting heart. 

i 
Yet I curse thee not — in sadness 

Still I feel how dear thou wert; 
Oh! I could not, e'en in madness, 

Doom thee to thy just desert! 

'Ere that hour! false siren, hear me! 

Thou may'st feel what I do now, 
While my spirit, hovering near thee, 

Whispers friendship's broken vow. 

But 't is useless to upbraid thee 
With thy past and present state; 

What thou wast — my fancy made 
thee, 
What thou art — I know too late. 



TO MINNIE. 

How sweetly grows the red, red rose, 

Upon the mountain's peak! 
But 0, more sweet its beauty glows 

Upon thy cheek. 

How brightly shine the stars of night 

Upon the summer sky! 
But brighter beams the light of love 

From thy clear eye! 

The singing birds that on the sprays 

Of amorous spring rejoice, 
Do not so thrill the human breast 

As thy sweet voice! 

Those eyes, those eyes of melting blue, 

They steal the soul away ! 
And leave to lovers but a mass 

Of trembling clay! 

Those lips, that seem the rosy gates 

Of pearly paradise, 
To kiss were easiest way to steal 

Into the skies. 

ruddy stars forsake your realms, 
Rose, leave the mountain's side! 

Birds, cease your songs upon the sprays! 
Ye are outvied! 



A PERFECT WOMAN. 

A sculptor to his friend did say: 
" I '11 lay a wager I can make 

From this huge mass of shapeless clay 
A perfect woman, sans mistake." 

" I '11 take you," was his friend's reply, 
And soon the sculptor's work was done. 

His friend gazed on with earnest eye, 
And, with a smile, said: " 1 have won." 

"Woman without a tongue, oh my! 

I think you '11 own that I have won." 
The sculptor, smiling, made reply, 

"A perfect woman should have none." 



JANE. 



Jane nobly strives to make it known 
"'Tis bad for man to live alone." 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



IF I SHOULD SHUN. 

Now if I should shun 
Every woman for one, 

Whose image must fill my whole breast, 
Whom I must prefer, 
And sigh but for her — 

What an insult 'twould be to the rest. 



MY BROWN EYED JEAN. 

'T was years ago when first we met, 

When first by me your face was seen; 
Those sweet brown eyes I can' t forget, 

Which won my heart to you, dear 
Jean. 
I came across the hills of sand, 

I saw you in the mazy ring, 
And should I roam in distant land, 

My mem'iw, sweet, to you would cling. 

A season passed. We met again; 

You charmed me with your queenly 
grace. 
Your brown eyes stole my roving brain, 

And Cupid's arrow left its trace. 
Within this heart of mine so wild, 

Love's reapers found a field to glean. 
My warm affection, like a child, 

Knelt down to you, my brown eyed 
Jean. 

I felt your sweet, bewitching charms, 

And saw with love your brown eyes 
fill; 
And as you nestled in my arms, 

I felt your heart with rapture thrill. 
I kissed your handsome, dimpled cheek, 

While ruby lips pressed mine, I ween! 
For ecstacy I could not speak, 

Nor could my happy brown eyed 
Jean. 

And now to you, my Jennie dear, 

I leave our future joys and griefs, 
With throbbing heart I wait to hear, 

You pass, or touch, affection's reef. 
If you'll but give to me your heart, 

Your course you'll near regret, I ween. 
We'll live, and love, and never part — 

Give thy consent, my brown eyed 
Jean. 




I SPEAK NOT. 

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not 

thy name; 
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt 

in the fame; 
But the tear which now burns on my 

cheek, may impart 
The deep thoughts that dwell in that 

silence of heart. 

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be 
the guilt! 

Forgive me! adored one! forsake, if thou 
wilt! 

But the heart which is thine shall ex- 
pire undebased, 

And man shall not break it — whatever 
thou may'st. 

And stern to the haughty, but humble to 

thee, 
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall 

be; 
And our days seem as swift, and our 

moments more sweet, 
With thee by my side than with worlds 

at our feet. 

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy 

love, 
Shall turn me, or fix, shall reward or 

reprove; 
And the heartless may wonder at all I 

resign — 
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but^to 

mine. 



'TIS NATURE'S PLAN. 

'T is nature's plan that modest man 

Shall never win the goal, 
While brazen cheek that dares to speak, 

In wealth and fame doth roll. 
Thus fate may frown, or fortune crown 

Your life with rosy hue, 
But those who win, must made a din, 

And blow their own bazoo. 



REMEMBER.. 




Remember well when you transpose 
"A thorn is always near a rose." 




'<iC 



1% 



110 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



a 



p\ 



COMMEND ME. 

Commend me to the boy who tries 
To make his life a blessing, 

And lights with love his parents 1 eyes, 
Their fondest hopes expressing. 

Commend me to the winning lass, 
Whose riches are her graces, 

For she disdains with those to pass 
Whose wealth is naught but faces. 

Commend me to that maiden fair — 
Mine eyes see none above her — 

I know no jewel half so rare, 
Because you see I love her. 



ADVICE. 



Marry young, and if you make a hit 
keep cool, and do n't brag about it. 

Exercise in open air, but don't saw 
wood until you are obliged to. 

Laugh every time you feel tickled, and 
laugh once in a while, anyhow. 

Don't jaw back — it only proves that 
you are as big a fool as the other fellow. 

Never borrow what you are able to buy, 
and always have some things you won't 
lend. 

Never run into debt, not if you can 
find anything else to run into. 

Be honest if you can; if you can't be 
lionest, pray for health. 

. Pay all the debts you owe, if you have 
to borrow the money to do it. 

Take but little advice, and then only 
take it when you have to. 

When you are asked for advice, always 
•charge a good price for it, and you will be 
sure to become wealthy. 



Never lie in bed and swear while your 
■wife walks the house with the sick baby. 



Never require coaxing to buy your wife 
a new dress or a new bonnet. 

Be always as polite to your wife as you 
are to other women. 

Go home early in the evening, and 
always in good condition. 

Never go off on a visit for a month and 
leave your husband at home alone. 

Never get into a passion when correct- 
ing one of your children. 



HIS MUSE DOTH RALLY. 

To win her, Tom his muse doth rally, 
And verses sweet he writes to Sally; 
She likes his rhymes so soft and terse 
But yet to him she seems a verse. 
She cannot stanza stuff he sends, 
And if she chants to metre friends, 
She calls him "cousin;" I opine 
They all know well that she is line. 



CRUEL PA. 



I've bought a bonnet, papa, dear; 

My beau declares 'tis trimmed with 
skill; 
I have no funds, and I' ve come here 

To see if you will foot the bill? 

" Your beau, and what may be his name? " 
The father roughly questioned her; 

She hung her head with cheeks aflame, 
She softly answered, " William, sir." 

His eye shown with a dangerous light: — 
"Hum! So he says 'tis trimmed with 
skill? 

Well, bring him to the house to-night, 
And I will gladly foot your Bill." 



ALMIRON. 



The "Mighty Dollar" cannot buy 
The love for which in vain you sigh 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




CUPID ON THE COLD STEEL. 

'Neath brilliant moon, one eve, I gaily 
danced 
The erstwhile waters frozen o'er; 
I skimmed the even, glassy sheet en- 
tranced — 
Ah, me! the rose-like blushes that she 
wore! 

" Canst skate ! " she said in pleading ac- 
cents rare. 
( I saw more blushes gather and depart. ) 
"I said " (the brave deserve the fair), 
" But would that I could skate into thy 
heart." 



IF I WERE YOU. 

Why did he look so grave? she asked, 

What might the trouble be? 
"My little maid," he sighing said. 

" Suppose that you were me, 
And you a weighty secret owned, 

Pray, tell me what you 'd do? " 
" I think I 'd tell it somebody," 

Said she, " If I were you ! " 

But still he sighed and looked askance, 

Despite her sympathy, 
" 0, tell me, little maid," he said, 

"Again, if you were me, 
And if you loved a pretty lass, 

0, then, what would you do?" 
*' I think P d go and tell her so," 

Said she, "if I were you! " 

"My little maid, 'tis you," he said, 

"Alone are dear to me." 
And then she turned away her head, 

And ne'er a word said she. 
But what he whispered in her ear, 

And what she answered, too — 
O, no, I cannot tell you this; 

I 'd guess, if I were you ! 



HAPPY. 



If happy when single, but not content, 
Then marry in haste, and after, repent. 



MISAPPREHENSION. 

It was only a word that you might have 
said, 
Or a look, 0, love, would have told me 
then, 
But you did not know — you were proud — 
and I, 
I looked and hoped for your coming 
again ; 
But you went your way, and you never 

knew 
How the sunlight was darkened my whole 
life through. 

But, 0, love, you loved me! Your heart 

was sore 
At the cold restraint as we parted and 

met, 
And parted again, and I could not speak, 
Though I watched you with wistful 

eyes — and yet 
The days went on and you never knew 
How I hoped and waited the long days 

through. 

And I loved you so I had given my life 
To have won some sign of the love I 

craved. 
What was it between us ? God knows, not 

I- 
Had the silence been broken, we, too, 

had been saved 
From a sorrow as hopeless as love was 

true, 
We must bear in our hearts our whole 

life through. 



COURTSHIP. 



There 's nothing like maneuvering in sea- 
son, 
Ye parents who have daughters to dis- 
pose of, 

Especially if you have any reason 

To think like spinsters they will not 
go off. 

There may be one in twenty thousand 
chances, 

Some man with money may propose ad- 
vances. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



cF* 



ADVICE TO THE WEDDED. 

Preserve sacredly the privacies of your 
own house, your married state, and your 
heart. 

Let no father, mother, sister, or brother, 
ever presume to come between you, or share 
the joys or sorrows that belong to you two 
alone. 

With mutual help build your quiet 
world, not allowing the dearest friend to 
be the confident of aught that becomes 
your domestic peace. 

Let moments of alienation, if they oc- 
cur, be healed at once. Never, no never 
speak of it outside; but to each other con- 
fess, and all will come out right. 

Never let the morrow's sun still find 
you at variance. Renew and renew your 
vow; it will do you good, and thereby 
your minds will grow together, contented 
in that love which is stronger than death, 
and you will become truly one. 



FORGET THEE NOT. 

Forget thee not! Ah, words of useless 
warning 
To one whose heart is henceforth mem- 
ory's shrine; 
Sooner the lark might fail to greet the 
morning 
Than I forget to think of thee and 
thine. 

Sooner the sunflower might forget to 
waken 
At the first radiance from the god of 
light, 
Than I, by treasured thoughts of thee 
forsaken, 
Part with the recollections now so 
bright. 

Oft, when at night the lonely deck I'm 
pacing, 
Or gaze on some refulgent, tremulous 
star, 
Past scenes of happiness, perchance, re- 
tracing, 
My thoughts will fly to meet thee, 
though afar. 




And oh, sweet lady ! when from home de- 
parted 
I count the weary leagues I stray from 
thee, 
And am quite thoughtful and impatient- 
hearted, 
Say, wilt thou sometimes, sometimes 
think of me? 



SHE LOVED ME FOR MYSELF. 

Amid the roses, lo! my dear wife stands, 

Herself the fairest, sweetest flower of 

all, 

I think, as from her slender snow-white 

hands 

She lets the honey-petaled blossoms fall. 

Amidst the roses, while the daylight 
pales, 
Our home stands golden in the setting 
sun; 
And 'neath our vine-wreathed porch she 
never fails 
To give me welcome, when the day is 
done. 

And when I meet her happy, love-lit 
eyes, 
I know it cannot be through sordid 
pelf 
That I have won my life's most precious 
prize — 
She loved, and took me simply for — 
myself ! 



HER ROSY MOUTH. 

Whatever other bards may sing 

Concerning woman's loveliness, 
There is, at least, one certain thing 

That every man agrees to — this: 
A pretty mouth is first the go, 

Though other charms be missing; 
A little sweet one, just, you know, 

One that you 'd feel like kissing. 



TELL ME. 



Tell me, fair nymph, if e'er you saw 
So sweet a girl as Phebe Shaw? 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I SOMETIMES THINK. 

I sometimes almost think that eyes have 
ears; 
This much is sure, that, out of ear-shot, 
things 
Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears, 
Of which I can't tell whence their 
knowledge springs. 
Like that same mystic music of the 
spheres, 
Which no one hears, so loudly though 
it rings, 
'T is wonderful how oft the sex have 
heard 
Long dialogues which pass'd without 
a word. 



SWEET FLORENCE. 

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times 
When worlds were staked for ladies' 
eyes; 

Had bards as many realms as rhymes, 
Thy charms might raise new Antonies. 

Though fate forbids such things to be, 
Yet by thine eyes, and ringlets curled, 

I cannot lose a world for thee, 

But would not lose thee for a world. 



CHARMS. 



Let others say how much they prize 

Charms that adorn the fair, 
The rosy cheek or sparkling eyes, 

The blonde or brunette hair; 
'T is not the bust or polished arm 

Could my approval win, 
But a lively, animated form, 

With a noble mind within. 



BLISS. 




If there is happiness on earth, 

A fellow knows it when 
He 's been away from home a month, 

And then *gets home again. 



ECSTACY. 

'T is ecstacy when happy lovers meet, 
In some lone spot, where not a sound 

is heard, 
Save their own sighs, or the unequal beat 
Of their young hearts to tender wishes- 

stirr'd. 
When hand seeks hand, and melting 

glances tell 
The unuttered tale of love — too sweetly 

well. 



TO A YOUTHLUL FRIEND. 

Few years have passed since you and I 
Were firmest friends, at least in name. 

And childhood's gay sincerity 

Preserved our feelings long the same. 

But now, like me, too well thou know'st 
What trifles oft the heart recall; 

And those who once have loved the most 
Too soon forget they loved at all. 

And such the change the heart displays, 
So frail is early friendship's reign, 

A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, .. 
Will view thy mind estranged again. 

If so, it never shall be mine 

To mourn the loss of such a heart; 

The fault was nature's fault, not thine, 
Which made thee fickle as thou art. 



OUR YOUNG FOLKS. 

Wouldst thou carve for thyself a bright 

name? 
Then attend! I will give thee three 
keys 
That will lead every labyrinth through. 
Here's the first, sir: " Be manly and 
brave," 
And the next: "Be thou honest and 
true." 
And the third, it is like unto these: 
" Work and win," is its magical name. 
Be thou faithful in using these keys; 
They unlock every gateway to fame 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LEAP YEAR WALTZ. 

Hearts were made to break, 

Hands were made to squeeze, 
Eyes were made to rove about 

And make men do as you please. 
Ears were made to burn, 

Feet were made to show, 
Girls were made to flirt with the men, 

But men with the girls — oh, no! 



TELL HIM "NO." 

Every day the men go wooing, 

Some for love and some for gold; 
Some because a thread of silver 

Tells them they are growing old. 
Others court alone for pastime, 

Never caring for a wife, 
For the hours spent in courting 

Are the sweetest hours of life. 

Lady, when a stylish fellow, 

With a waxed and dyed mustache, 

Takes occasion to inform you 
Of his worth in ready cash, 

And upon a short acquaintance, 
Would become your favored beau, 

Be not tardy with your answer, 
Tell him " No." 

If his hobby is fast horses, 

And his love a bad cigar; 
If he spends his evenings writing 

Silly verses to a star; 
If his cheeks are pale as ashes, 

And his hands as white as snow, 
Turn aside for better lovers, 
Tell him "No." 

If he sports rich opera glasses, 

And a slim gold-headed cane, 
Or his hair parts in the middle, 

You will know he has no brain; 
If he knows the tricks of euchre — 
Which is "High," and "Jack," and 
"Low"— 
You had best remain a maiden, 
Tell him " No." 




If he ventures dissertations 

On the qualities of wine; 
If he spends his weekly evenings 

Where the club-room gas-jets shine; 
If he flirts with other ladies, 

And reluctant lets them go 
To enjoy your smiles and graces, 
Tell him " No." 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE. 

You call me still your life — oh ! change 
the word — 
Life is as transient as the inconstant 
sigh: 
Say, rather, I 'm your soul; more just that 
name, 
For like the soul, my love can never 
die. 



FORTUNE. 



There is no fortune, however good, that 
may not be reversed; none so bad that it 
cannot be improved. 



BEAUTY. 



A rounded chin and dimpled cheeks, 

In woman are beguiling; 
Her beauty I do most admire 

When I behold her smiling. 



A CONJUGAL KISS. 

Now where is the joy, when we trifle and 

toy, 

Yet dread some disaster from beauty? 

For sweet is the bliss from a conjugal 

kiss 

When love mingles pleasure with duty. 



ALAS! 



Alas! 1 wish I could o'ercome my pain, 
That I might live for love, and you, again, j 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




DISAPPOINTED. 

I loved her well, I would have loved her 

better, 
Had love met love; but that confounded 

letter 
Gave me to understand I could not get 

her. 



A JAPANESE FAN. 

Bordered by quirky lines, 
Covered with quaint designs — 
Tortuous trees and vines 

Drawn arabesquely; 
Here are grim griffins seen, 
Rivers of purple sheen, 
Maidens in red and green, 

Smiling grotesquely. 

Haply beyond the seas, 
Under the bamboo trees, 
Some jaunty Japanese 

Damsel possessed it; 
Haply her lover, too, 
When there was none to view, 
(Lovers quite often do!) 

Kissed and caressed it. 

Now 't is Jeannette's, and she 
Waves it so witchingly 
Whene'er she strays with me 

Down through the meadow, 
That all my pulses stir, 
Thinking of it and her — 
Hang it! I wish it were 

Back there in Yeddo. 



THE WARNING. 



and 



i\ 



Lovers, who waste your thoughts 
youth 

In passion's fond extremes, 
Who dream of women's love and truth, 

And dote upon your dreams; 
I should not here your fancy take 

From such a pleasing state, 
Were you not sure at last to wake 



And find mistake too late. 



\& 



DEGREE. 

Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might have hoped she'd have 
smiled upon me. 



A PUZZLED DUTCHMAN. 

I 'm a broken-hearted Deutscher 
Vots filled mit grief und shame; 

I dells you vot de drouble ish — 
I doesent know my name. 

You dinks dis very funny, eh? 

Ven you der story hear, 
You vill not vonder den so mootch, 

It vas so strange und queer. 

Mein moder had two liddle twins, 
Dey vas me und mein broder; 

Ve look so very mootch alike, 
No von knew vich from toder. 

Yon of der poys was " Yawcup," 
Und u Hans," der oder's name; 

But den it makes no different, 
Ve both got called der same. 

Yell, von of us got tead — 
Yaw, mynheer, dat ish so! 

But vedder Hans, or Yawcup, 
Mein moder, she ton 't know. 

Und so I am in droubles, 
I gan't git droo mein head 

Yedder I 'm Hans vots living, 
Or Yawcup vot ish dead. 



IF DREAMS WERE SOLD. 



If 



dreams were, sold in the market- 
place, 
What kind of a dream would you buy? 
And the mother lifted a tender face, 

And said with a tender sigh: 
"I would buy a dream of my absent 
boy, 
For what could be sweeter bliss 
Than to clasp his hand in the land of 
dreams, 
And give him a mother's kiss?" 



^\1 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



THE DYING BOY. 

I knew a boy, whose infant feet had trod 
Upon the blossoms of some seven 
springs, 
And when the eighth came round and 
called him out 
To gambol in the sun, he turned away, 
And sought his chamber to lie down and 
die. 
'T was night — he summoned his accus- 
tomed friends, 
And, on this wise, bestowed his last be- 
quest: — 



Mother! I 'm dying now — 
There is deep suffocation in my breast, 
As if some heavy hand my bosom prest, 
And on my brow 
I feel the cold sweat stand. 
My lips grow dry, and tremulous my 

breath 
Comes feebly up. tell me ! is this 
death? 

Mother your hand — 
Here — lay it on my wrist, 
And place the other thus, beneath my 

head, 
And say, sweet mother! say, when I am 
dead, 

Shall I be missed? 
Never, beside your knee 
Shall I kneel down again at night to 

pray, 
Nor with the morning wake and sing 
the lay, 

You taught to me! 
0, at the time of prayer, 
When you look round and see a vacant 

seat, 
You will not wait then for my coming 
feet — 

You '11 miss me there! 



Father! I'm going home! 
To the good home you speak of, that 

blest land, 
Where it is one bright summer always, 
and 
Storms do not come. 





I must be happy then. 
From pain and death you say I shall be 

free — 
That sickness never enters there, and we 

Shall meet again! 

Brother! — the little spot 
I used to call my garden, where long 

hours 
We 've staid to watch the budding things 
and flowers, 
Forget it not! 

Plant there some boxjor pine — 
Something that lives in winter, and will 

be 
A verdant offering to my memory, 
And call it mine. 

Sister ! — my young rose tree — 
That all the spring has been my pleasant 

care, 
Just putting forth its leaves so green and 
fair, 

I give to thee, 
And when its roses bloom, 
I shall be gone away — my short life 

done! 
But will you not bestow a single one 
Upon my tomb? 

Now mother! sing the tune 
You sang last night — I 'm weary and 

must sleep! 
Who was it called my name ? — Nay, do 
not weep, 

You '11 all come soon! 

Morning spread over earth her rosy 
wings — 
And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory 
pale, 
Lay on his couch asleep. The gentle air 
Came through the open window 
freighted with 
The savory odors of the early spring — 
He breathed it not! — The laugh of 
passers by 
Jarred like a discord in some mournful 
tune, 
But marred not his slumbers — he was 
dead! q^ 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WRITE TO ME OFTEN. 

Do write to me very often, 

If you send me but a line, 
For the wild waves roll betweenus, 

And my life is linked with thine; 
And e'en one line will tell me, 

With more than magic skill, 
That though I 'm absent from thy side, 

I am remembered still. 



FORGET THEE. 

" Forget thee? " If to dream by night, and 

muse on thee by day; 
If all the worship, deep and wild, a poet's 

heart can pay; 
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to 

Heaven's protecting power; 
If winged thoughts that flit to thee — a 

thousand in an hour; 
Ifgbusy fancy blending thee with all my 

future lot, — 
If this thou callest forgetting, thou indeed 

shalt be forgot! 

"Forget thee? " bid the forest birds for- 
get their sweetest tune; 

u Forget thee ? " — bid the sea forget to 
swell beneath the moon; 

Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the 
eve's refreshing dew; 

Thyself forget thine " own dear land," 
and its mountains wild and blue; 

Forget each old familiar face, each long 
remembered spot; — 

When these things are forgot by thee, 
then thou shalt be forgot! 

Keep if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still 
calm, and fancy-free, 

For God forbid thy gladsome heart 
should grow less glad for me; 

Yet while that heart is still unwon, 
bid not mine to rove, 

But let it nurse its humble faith and un- 
complaining love; 

If these, preserved for patient years, at 
last, avail me not, 

Forget me then; — but ne' er believe that 
thou can'st be forgot. 




THE TEAR. 

Though my vows I can pour, 

To my Annie no more, 
My Annie, to love once so dear; 

In the shade of her bower, 

I remember the hour, 
She rewarded those vows with a tear. 

By another possessed. 

May she live ever blest, 
Her name still my heart must revere; 

With a sigh I resign, 

What I once thought was mine, 
And forgive her deceit with a tear. 



TRUST HER NOT. 

" Trust her not, she 's fooling thee," 
This is what they said to me 

Over, oft and often; 
"Shun those eyes of liquid blue, 
For they '11 not be true to you, 

Tho' they shyly soften. 

"When to her you fondly speak; 
And the dimples In her cheek, 

'Mid the roses playing, 
Are but traps to catch your heart, 
Which with pain will keenly smart, 

If it goes a straying. 

"To that coy bewitching maid, 
Trust her not, be most afraid 

When her words are kindly." 
Thus they 've spoken. I have heard 
All they've said; I spoke no word, 

But still loved you blindly. 



DECEIT. 



I have tasted the sweets and the bitters 
of love, 
In friendship I early was taught to be- 
lieve; 
My passion the matrons of prudence re- 
prove, 
I have found that a friend may pro- 
fess — yet deceive. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




REMEMBER ME. 

Remember -me — Oh! pass not thou my 

grave 

Without one thought whose relics there 

recline; 

The only pang my bosom dare not brave 

Must be to find forge tfulness in thine. 



A YOUNG HIGHLANDER, 

When I roved, a young Highlander, o'er 
the dark heath, 
And clim'd thy steep summit, oh ! Mor- 
ven of snow, 
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd 
beneath, 
Or the mist of the tempest that gath- 
ered below, 
Untutored by science, a stranger to fear, 
And rude as the rocks where my in- 
fancy grew, 
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was 
dear, 
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 't was cen- 
tred in you. 



VIRTUE. 



Such is the fate unhappy women find, 
And such the curse entailed upon their 

kind; 
That man, the lawless libertine, may rove, 
Free and unquestioned in the wilds of 

love; 
While woman, if she swerves from vir- 
tue's way, 
And in the hidden paths of pleasure 

stray, 
Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame, 
By one false step, entirely damns her 
fame. 



A TOAST. 



Here 's to the girl of bashful sixteen, 
And here 's to the widow of fifty, 

And here's to all ages that come in be- 
tween, 
But beauty to one that 's most thrifty. 




TIMIDITY. 

I pity him so deep in love, 

Who won't confess the itching pain ; 
So timid he won't make the move, 

And ask his girl to change her name. 



SERVILITY. 



Within the bond of marriage, pray tell 
me, sir, is it expected I should no secrets 
know that appertain to you or to your 
business? Am I thus held in base sus- 
pense and limitation, only to sit with you 
at meals or comfort you in bed, or talk 
perchance, at times? If I but dwell 
within the suburbs of such pleasure, then 
I swear I am no more vour wedded wife. 



SLANDER. 



Pray do not state opinions blindly, 
Which, if false, to trouble tend. 

He of whom you spoke unkindly 
May have been your warmest friend. 



CLARA BELLE. A MISTAKE. 

Hidden behind the market cart, 
I waited for sweet Clara Belle. 

She came, I heard her beating heart 
'Fore on my ears her footsteps fell. 

"Sweet Belle," said I, "I'm glad you're 
here. 

I hugged her, she expected such. 
"Got inHimmel!" fell on mine ear, 

"Ye muses nine! The girl was Dutch! 

Instead of Belle, it was Wilhelui's frau, 
Who came out to milk the brindle cow. 



I AM GOING. 



"Yes, sweet Lulu, I am going, and won't 

be back for many years. 
Oh, quit crying! I was joking! Let me 

kiss away those tears." 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HE LOVES YOU. 

Now I know he loves you, Clara, and you 

in his bosom reign, 
And I 'm sure that in a short time he 

will come to you again. 



JUNIATA AND JAIRUS. 

Now hand in hand they roamed the fields; 

They plucked the daisies on the hill; 
To flames of love aloue they yield, 
And pause beside affection's rill. 
No earthly hand would dare to sever 
Their hearts, that now are twain — 
forever ! 

Hear me, Juniata, Jairus said, 

I cannot boast of wealth and store, 
But love I give, and thou shalt wed 
An honest heart, if nothing more; 
A golden chain no hand can sever 
Shall bind our hearts for aye — for- 
ever ! 

A sweeter incense ne'er was breathed 

Than that with which affection teems; 

A grander queen was never crowned 

Than her who haunted Jairus' dreams; 

And thro' his brain there flitted ever 

The love of her he'd love — forever. 



TEMPER. 



That man's a fool who tries by force or 
skill 

To stem the current of a woman's will; 

Better to yield, if in her love your trust is, 

Than cross her ways and do yourself in- 
justice. 




PROFANITY. 

As polished steel receives a stain 
From drops at random flung; 

So does a child, when words profane 
Drop from a parent's tongue. 



A COUNTRY GIRL. 

A country girl with a freckled arm, 
Auburn haired, and a mole on her 
chin — 

The lone heiress of a splendid farm, 
And what is better, a pile of tin. 



A SONG. 



Come let us now resolve at last, 

To live and love in quiet; 
We '11 tie the knot so very fast, 

That time shall ne'er untie it. 

The truest joys they seldom prove, 
Who free from quarrels live; 

'T is the most tender part of love, 
Each other to forgive. 

When least I seem'd concerned, I took 

No pleasure, nor no rest; 
And when I feigned an angry look, 

Alas! I lov'd you best. 

Own but the same to me, you '11 find 
How blest will be our fate; 

Oh to be happy, to be kind, 
Sure never is too late. 



BRACE LAMAR. 



■So 



Rob Jackson's going to Texas," 

Lamar chuckled to himself: 
"He will go and win himself a name, and 

likely worldly pelf. 
Well, my best wishes go with him," 

giving his mustache a twirl, 
"But, egad! I'll play my cards fine, and 

confiscate his girl." 



WHEN FIRST THEY MET. 

When first they met she did not ask 
Him for religion or for creed, 

For dogma, or for sacred task, 
His love alone she found in need. 

And so they said, death can but sever, 

Hearts we'll exchange for aye — forever! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ELLENORE. 

Farewell! when strangers lift thy lonely 

bier, 
And place a nameless stone without a 

tear; 
Who then will soothe thy grief when 

mine is o'er? 
Who will protect thee, helpless Ellen ore? 



I LOVE YOU. 



Three words there are, the sweetest yet, 

If by the right lips spoken, 
Like pearls of price in pure gold set, 

Of longing hearts the token. 
Young man or maid, you know them 
well, 

Whatever sky 's above you, 
If you but once have felt the spell 

Of those three words, "I love you!" 

With these alone, since lips could speak, 

The lover is contented: 
They've called the blush to beauty's 
cheek 

Since language was invented. 
The full wave of the heart's outpour, 

It seeks its kindred billow, 
Or makes on disappointment's shore 

Its sad and lonely pillow. 

" I love you!" dear to willing ear 

As is the declaration, 
Its echo soft is yet more dear 

In sweet reciprocation: 
Though but confessed by heaving breast, 

Or timid form drawn nearer, 
Which tempts the kiss to seal the bliss, 

Or make the echo clearer. 

"I love you!" Music unsurpassed, 

The master-chord of feeling, 
As sweet to-day as in the past, 

The richest depths revealing; 
While stands the world, while beats the 
heart 
With generous emotion, 
Still stand those thrilling words apart 
signalize devotion. 




Then sacred be the chosen spot 

Where from the rest you glean them! 
And oh! be sure you speak them not 

Unless you wholly mean them! 
For man, or maid, you scarce can tell, 

Whatever sky 's above you, 
What power for life or death may dwell 

In those three words, " I love you!" 



ODE TO THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Among the beauties loved by man, 

And honored by the true and brave, 
Grand, splendid woman, leads the van; 

Man's joy and solace to the grave; 
The light of every hearth and home 

Where harmony and true love reigns. 
She conquers men's desire to roam; 

She shares his griefs and soothes his 
pains. 

Grander than Greek or Roman, still 

Nobler than storied nymph or faun, 
Sweeter than daisies on the hill, 

She loves man e'en when fortune's 
gone. 
Tender and true, ne'er to be spurned, 

Man's heart she holds until the last 
Grey hair has to the silver turned, 

And roses from the cheeks have passed. 



MEN. 



Of false mankind though you may be 

the best, 
Ye all have robbed poor women of their 

rest, 
When loose epistles violate chaste e}^. 
She half consents, who silently denies. 
Rude force might some unwilling kisses 

gain, 
But that is all it ever can obtain. 
But all your sex is subject to deceive, 
And ours, alas! too willing to believe. 



I WATCH. 



I watch the wheels of nature's mazy plan, 
And learn the future by the past of man. . 




A BOOK OP POEMS 




THE END OF LIFE. 

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, 

not breaths; 
In feelings, not figures on a dial. 
We should count time by heart-throbs. 

He most lives 
Who thinks most; feels the noblest; acts 

the best. 
And he, whose heart beats quickest lives 

the longest: 
Lives in one hour more than in years do 

some 
Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along 

their veins. 



TO LOVELY L. A DREAM. 

Fair maiden, pardon me if I, 

In any way, too familiar be. 
To-night while Luna's hanging high, 

I dedicate these lines to thee ! 
To tell a dream which me befell 

On yesternight. A fact, 'tis true! 
I dreamed myself bound by a spell 

I could not break, whate'er I'd do. 

Methought Dan Cupid said to me, 
" If you would break this magic spell 

Forthwith I'll furnish you the key!" 
"Giv't me," said I. Said he, '"Tis 
well. 

Your heart hath departed from its cell 
Unto the keeping of" — I won't tell. 



MEMORY. 



I do not say becpeath unto my soul 

Thy memory, I rather ask forgetting; 
Withdraw, I pray, from me thy strong 
control, 
Leave something in the wide world 
worth regretting. 

I need my thoughts for other things than 
thee, 
I dare not let thine image fill them 
only; 
The hurried happiness it wakes in me 
Will leave the hours that are to come 
more lonely. 




A DESERTED WIFE. 

Evermore her eyelids droop'd, her eyes 

were downward cast, 
And when she at her table gave me food, 
She did not look at me! Her voice was 

low, 
Her body was subdued. In every act 
Pertaining to her house affairs, appear'd 
The careless stillness of a thinking mind 
Self-occupied; to which all outward 

things 
Are like an idle matter. Still she sighed, 
But yet no motion of the breast was seen, 
No heaving of the heart. While by the 

fire 
We sate together, sighs came on my ear, 
I knew not how, and hardly whence they 

came. 

I returned, 
And took my rounds along this road again, 
'Ere on its sunny bank the primrose 

flower 
Peep'd forth to give an earnest of the 

spring. 
I found her sad and drooping; she had 

learned 
No tidings of her husband; if he lived, 
She knew not that he lived; if he were 

dead, 
She knew not he was dead. She seem'd 

the same 
In person and appearance; but her house 
Bespake a sleepy hand of negligence, 

Her infant babe 
Had from its mother caught the trick of 

grief, 
And sighed among its playthings! 



TRUE LOVE CAN NEVER DIE. 

Whirling spheres may leave their courses, 

and fixed stars may die away; 
Father Sun may let his gentle beams oh 

earth no longer stray; 
Sister Moon may hide her lovely face, 

and from her orbit hie; 
But true love! It is eternal! It can 

never, never die! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVELY GIRLS. 

You may talk about your lovely girls, 

with bonny hair and eyes, 
With cherry lips as pure and sweet as 

the fruits of paradise; 
You may talk of queens and houris, but 

we '11 take for woe or weal, 
That lovely girl, that spotless pearl, that 

can cook a good square meal. 



JEWELS. 



You shall have all that ever sparkled yet, 
And of the rarest. Not an Afric king 
Shall wear one that you love. The Per- 
sian's brow, 
And the swart emperor's by the Indian 

stream 
Shall wane beside you; you shall be a 

blaze 
Of rubies, your lips rivals; topazes, 
Like solid sunbeams; moony opals, pearls, 
Fit to be ocean's lamps; brown hyacinths, 
Lost only in your tresses; chrysolites, 
Transparent gold; diamonds, like new 

shot stars, 
Or brighter, — like your eyes! You shall 

have all 
That ever lurked in eastern mines, or 

paved 
With light the treasure chambers of the 

sea, 
If you will consent to love no one but 

me. 



MY TIME. 



My time, ye muses, was happily spent 
When Phebe went with me wherever I 
went. 



WE LOVE. 



but 



We love — may have been loved 

ah! how faint 
The love that withers of its earthly taint, 
To what our first sweet visions used to 

paint. 




SONG TO * * * *. 

What! bid me seek another fair 

In untried paths of female wiles? 
And posies weave of other hair, 
And bask secure in other smiles? 
Thy friendly stars no longer prize, 
And light my course by other eyes? 

Ah, no! — my dying lips shall close, 

Unalter'd love, as faith, professing; 
Nor praising him who life bestows, 
Forget who makes that gift a blessing. 
My last address to heaven is due; 
The last but one is all to you. 



MY LOVER. 



So constantly 

As yonder river to the sea 

My love flows forth in search of thee, 
My lover! 

And when the joyful bird in yonder tree 

Forgets the fondest hopes of memory; 

And when the mother's heart no more 
shall yearn 

To see her wayward boy his steps return; 

Or when is sought no more the wander- 
ing sheep 

By drowsy shepherds on the mountain 
steep, 

I still shall long to see thy face again, 

And ever watch for thee o'er hill and 
plain; 

And whether here or on some other shore, 

This plighted heart is thine forevermore. 



I LATELY VOWED. 

I lately vowed, but 'twas in haste, 
That I no more would court 

The joys that seem, when they are past, 
As dull as they are short. 



I oft to hate my mistress swear, 
But soon my weakness find; 

I make my oaths when she 's severe, 
But break them when she 's kind. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



123 



A DREAM. 

Last night I dreamed of father, and 

strange bliss 
Crept to my lips — it was a mother's kiss. 
Her gray curls touched my brows, then 

by her side 
I saw the girl I love, my future bride. 
Thank Heaven! I'm Hearing home! I 

soon shall be 
With May and mother! Evermore set 

free. 



ADAM IN THE GARDEN. 



with 



When "Adam" in "the garden, 

that woman by his side, 
A keeping up his honeymoon, with his 

blushing, virgin bride, . 
Might all seem kind of natural, if you 'd 

kept the " snake " away, 
But the serpent spoils the story, so all 

the people say. 

Henceforth folks will keep winking when 
you talk about the " rib, " 

And though they may not say it, they 
think it is a fib. 

No woman with the spirit which they 
have got to-day, 

Could e'er be manufactured from a sleep- 
ing bone that way. 



DELLA. 



Sickness may fright the roses from her 
cheek, 
Or make the lilies fade, 
But all the subtle ways that death doth 
seek 
Cannot my love invade. 




THE PARTING KISS. 

One kind kiss before we part, 
Drop a tear and bid adieu; 

Though we sever, my fond heart, 
Till we meet, shall pant for you. 



HUBBY. 

He softly kissed his sleeping wife, 
Then with a lingering look 

Of fond affection, straightway went 
And kissed her pretty cook. 

Alas, for him ! the gentle wife 
He thought asleep, was not; 

And for her cook, and hubby, too, 
She made it mighty hot. 



JOHN AND KATE. 

He would have kissed her once or twice, 
But she would not, she was so nice, 

She would not do 't in sight; 
And then she look'd as who should say 
I will do what I list to-day, 

And you shall do 't at night. 

If wishing should be any sin, ,• 
The priest himself had guilty been, 

She looked that day so purely: 
And did the youth so oft the feat 
At night, as some did in conceit, 

It would have spoil'd him surely. 



ANNIE. 



0, Annie, cry, and storm, and rave, 
Do anything with passion in it! 

Hate me one hour, and then turn round 
And love me truly — just one minute. 



TOO SWEET TO END IN DEATH. 

And each late rose sigh'd with its latest 

breath, 
This sweet world is too sweet to end in 

death. 



TO MISS M. 



Thus, lady, will it be with me, 

When I can view thy charms no more; 
For while I linger near to thee, 

I sigh for all I knew before. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TILL I FORGET. 

Till I forget your false, fair face, 
I ne'er shall find a resting place. 



CECILIA. 



Alas! I wish but to o'ercome my pain, 
That I may live for love and you again. 



IS HE RICH? 

I know that he has houses, lands, 

Warehouses, stocks — I know not what, 
And yet I do not know if he 
Is rich or not. 

If greed, and gold, and pomp, and pride, 

Can make one rich, then he is so. 
I think there's need of other things, 
Yet do not know. 

To make one rich it seems to me, 

It needs a home where love can dwell. 
Perhaps that he has such a home, — 
I cannot tell. 

I say again, he may be rich, 

But to my mind it seems not so. 
I 'd sooner have a wealth of love 
And let gold go. 



INSPIRATION. 

If you cannot inspire a woman to love 
you, fill her to overflowing with love for 
herself; all that runs over will be yours. 



PRIDE OF DRESS. 

Fond pride of dress is sure a heavy curse, 
Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse. 



IGNORANCE. 

He who attempts to show his learning 
to the ignori % generally exposes his 
ignorance to the learned. 




A KNIFE, DEAR GIRL, CUTS LOVE, 
THEY SAY! 

A knife, dear girl, cuts love, they say! 
Mere modish love, perhaps it may — 
For any tool, of any kind, 
Can separate — what ne'er was joined. 

That self-same blade from me must sever 
Sensation, judgment, sight, forever: 
All memory of endearments past, 
All hope of comforts long to last; — 

All that makes ten years with you 
A summer, and a short one too; — 
All that affection feels and fears, 
When hours without you seem like years. 

If in a kiss, — delicious treat! — 
Your lips acknowledge the receipt, 
Love, fond of such substantial fare, 
And proud to play the glutton there, 
All thoughts of cutting will disdain, 
Save only — " Cut, and come again." 



NAUGHTY BUT SWEET. 

Somebody's lips were close to mine; 

Thus tempted, I couldn't resist. 
Roguish and rosy, a sweet little mouth 

Was suddenly, softly kissed. 
Somebody's eyes looked up and frowned, 

With such a reproving glance; 
" If kisses were wicked," I asked my pet, 

Then the eyes began to dance. 
And smiling, the little maid answered, 

As I knelt there at her feet, 
" They must be a little bit naughty, 

Or they never would be so sweet." 



GRACE. 



There 's many a girl will pass as " fair," 
Because a merry heart dwells there. 



ROSES. 



The roses on your cheek were never made 
To bless the eye alone and then to fade. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




EPISTLE TO HER I LOVE. 

'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear, 
The tale of one who scorns a tear; 
And there is little in that tale 
Which hetter bosoms would bewail. 
But mine has suffered more than well 
'T would suit Philosophy to tell. 
I 've seen my bride another's bride — 
Have seen her seated by his side. — 
Have seen the infant which she bore 
Wear the sweet smile the mother wore 
When she and I in youth have smiled, 
As fond and faultless as her child. 
Have seen her eyes in cold disdain 
Ask if I felt no secret pain; 
And I have acted well my part, 
And made my cheek belie my heart, 
Return'd the freezing glance she gave, 
Yet felt the while that woman's slave: — 
Have kiss'd, as if without design, 
The babe which ought to have been mine, 
And show'd, alas! in each caress, 
Time had not made me love her less. 



ALAMEDA. 



No, not one hour in all the world will 

see 
My heart grow cold — 't is always warm 

for thee. 



FAREWELL. 



Farewell, too scrupulous fair one; oh, 

farewell; 
What torments I endure no tongue can 

tell. 



FLATTERY. 



That man who has a tongue is no man, 
If, with that tongue, he cannot win a 
woman. 



A SISTER'S LOVE. 

A sister's love! how sweet! 'T is far above 
All other love when it is fond and true. 

Ah ! who can doubt it when it is the love 
That some one else's sister feels for you ? 




ONE EVENING AT THE BEACH, 

"Ah, yes! to-morrow I must go." 
"So soon? I thought you 'd three weeks 
more. " 
"If you wish, then it shall be so." 
"'T would please us all if it were four." 
"If you were all, and I were aught 

To you — a little more than friend — 
Ah! then I'd bless my happy lot, 

And make my stay without an end. " 

" And here, I ask, this starry night, 

The right to call you ever mine. " 
"Oh, sir, you have surprised me quite; 

Our meeting here has been divine — 
But — when you speak of marriage, sir, — 

Why — Willie would be awful mad. 
" Your husband, eh, I would infer? 

And what would Phefye say — egad!" 



THE WATER LADY. 

Alas, that moon should ever beam 
To show what man should never see! — 
I saw a maiden on a stream, 
And fair was she! 

I stayed awhile to see her throw 
Her tresses back, that all beset 
The fair horizon of her brow 
With clouds of jet. 

I stayed a little while to view 
Her cheeks, that wore, in place of red, 
The bloom of water — tender blue, 
Daintily spread. 

I stayed to watch a little space 
Her parted lips, if she would sing; 
The waters closed above her face 
With many a ring. 

And still I stayed a little more — 
Alas! she never comes again! 
I throw my flowers from the shore, 
And watch in vain. 



I know my life will fade away - 
I know that I must vainly pine 
For I am made of mortal clay, 
But she 's divine. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE BROKEN APPOINTMENT. 

I sought at morn the beechen bower, 

Thy verdant grot; 
It cauie, — it went, — the promised hour, — 

I found thee not. 
Light zephyrs from the quivering boughs 

Soon brush'd the transient dew, 
Then first I fear'd that Love's own vows 

Were transient too! 

At eve I sought the well known stream 

Where wont to rove , 
We breathed so oft by twilight gleam, 

Our vows of love; 
I stopp'd upon the pleasant brink, 

And saw the wave glide past; 
Ah me! I could not help but think 

Love glides as fast. 
» 
Then, all along the moonlight glen 

So soft, so fair, — 
I sought thy truant steps again, — 

Thou wert not there. 
The clouds held on their busy way 

Athwart the waning moon; 
And such, I said, Love's fitful ray, 

And wanes as soon. 

Oh! I had cull'd for thee a wreath 

Of blossoms rare; 
But now each floweret droops beneath 

The chill night air. 
'T is past, — long past, our latest hour, 

And yet thou art not nigh; 
Oh, love! thou art indeed a flower 

Born but to die! 



AN ODE. 



While blooming youth and gay delight 
Sit on thy rosy cheeks confest, 

Thou hast, my dear, undoubted right 
To triumph o'er this destin'd breast. 

My reason bends to what thy eyes ordain; 

For^.1 was born to love, and thou, to 
reign. 



HEARTS. 



And some think Death has failed to sever 
Hearts that true Love has bound forever. 




THEN AND NOW. 

You loved me once .... ah well I knew 

it then! 
One night you kissed me underneath 

the roses, 
And said that we must never kiss again. 
That was the parting .... that strange 

moment, when 
The heart its weakness and its strength 

discloses .... 

I know you loved me then! 

You love me yet .... ah well I know It 



now 



By these few stolen kisses, sad as tender, 
That gave my spirit strength, I know 
not how, 
Falling like benisons, on lip and brow 
To fill my soul with mingled gloom and 
splendor .... 
I know you love me now! 

As then, and now. let it be for aye! 
Let those sweet lips still tell the dear 

old story. 
Let those kind kisses still drive grief 

away, 
Lighten my heavy cross from day to 

day, 
And make my crown of thorns a crown 

of glory .... 

Forever and for aye ! 



. SAY. 

Say, all ye shades, where late he us'd to 

rest, 
If e'er your beds with lovelier swain were 

prest; 
Say, all ye silver streams, if e'er ye bore 
The image of so fair a face before. 



SHE I LOVED. 

And she I loved? I must not think 
Of her — for "that way madness lies!" 

Boy, start the champague cork — I'll 
drink, ■ 
And dream no more of Myra's eyes 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




YOU KISSED ME. 

You kissed me ! my head dropped low on 
your breast, 

With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest, 

While the holy emotions my tongue 
dared not speak 

Flashed up in a flame from my heart to 
my cheek. 

Your arms held me fast — oh, your arms 
were so bold, 

Heart beat against heart in their passion- 
ate fold. 

Your glances seemed drawing my soul 
through my eyes, 

As the sun draws the mist from the sea 
to the skies. 

Your lips clung to mine till 'I prayed in 
my bliss 

They might never unclasp from that rap- 
turous kiss. 



LEONA. 



Leona, come close to my bed, 

And lay your dear band on my brow; 
The same touch that thrilled me in days 

that are fled, 
And raised the lost roses of youth from 
the dead 
Can brighten the brief moments now. 

We have loved from the cold world apart, 
And your trust was too generous and 
true 
For their hate to o'erthrow; when the 

slanderer's dart 
Was rankling deep in my desolate heart 
I was dearer than ever to you. 

I thank the Great Father for this, 

That our love is not lavished in vain; 
Each germ in the future will blossom to 

bliss, 
And the forms that we love, and the lips 
that we kiss, 
Never shrink at the shadow of pain. 




TO MARY. 

Though years have roll'd by, dear Mary! 
since we 
Have look'd on each other's face, 
Yet thy memory is fondly cherish'd by 
me, 
For my heart is its dwelling place; 
And if on this earth we should meet no 

more, 
It must linger there still until life is o'er. 

And I, who have toil'd up life's steep hill 

Some steps, — since we parted last, 
Often pensively pause, and look eagerly 

still 
On the few bright spots I have 

pass'd: — 
And some of the brightest, dear Mary! to 

me, 
Were the loving ones I enjoyed with 

thee! 



A LOVER. 



Arabian fiction never fill'd the world 
With half the wonders that were wrought 

for him. 
Earth breathed in one great presence of 

the spring; 
Life turn'd the meanest of her imple- 
ments 
Before his eyes to price above all gold; 
The house she dwelt in was a sainted 

shrine ; 
Her chamber window did surpass in glory 
The portal of the dawn; all paradise 
Could, by the simple opening of a door, 
Let itself in upon him; pathways, walks, 
Swarm'd with enchantment, till his spirit 

sank, 
Surcharg'd, within him — overblest to 

move 
Beneath a sun that walks a weary world 
To its dull round of ordinary cares; 
A man too happy for mortality. 



SUBLIME. 



A woman sublime and truly grand, 
Gives wealth to him who receives her 
hand. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




EPITAPH. 

This to a mother's sacred memory 

Her son hath hallo w'd. Absent many a 

year 
Far over sea, his sweetest dreams were 

still 
Of that dear voice, which sooth'd his in- 
fancy: 
And after many a fight against the Moor 
And Malabar, or that fierce cavalry 
Which he had seen covering the bound- 
less plain 
Even to the utmost limits where the eye 
Could pierce the fair horizon, — his first 

thought, 
In safety, was of her, who when she heard 
The tale of that day's danger, would re- 
tire 
And pour her pious gratitude to heaven 
In prayers and tears of joy. The linger- 
ing hour 
Of his return, long-look'd for, came at 

length, 
And, full of hope, he reach'd his native 

shore. 
Vain hope that puts its trust in human 

life! 
For ere he came the number of her days 
Was full. 0, reader, what a world were 

this, 
How unendurable its weight, if they 
Whom death hath sunder'd, did not meet 



again 



ALAMEDA. 



I felt her tears, for years and years 
Quench not my flame, but stir; 

The very hate I bore her mate 
Increased my love for her. 



EMBRACE. 




One moment may, with bliss repay 
Unnumbered hours of pain ; 

Such was the throb of naughty Rob, 
Once while embracing Jane. 



MY ABSALOM. 

Thus, with forgiving tears, and recon- 
ciled, 

The king of Judah mourned his rebel 
child ! 

Musing on days, when yet the guiltless 
boy 

Smiled on his sire, and filled his heart 
with joy! 

My Absalom! (the voice of nature cried) 

Oh! that for thee thy father could have 
died! 

For bloody was the deed and rashly done, 

That slew my Absalom! My son! my 
son! 



HYMENIAL. PROSAIC POETRY. 

Charles to the altar led the lovely 
Jane, and to her father's house returned 
again, when to convey them on their 
wedding tour, already stood a brilliant 
coach and four. When lo! the gather- 
ing showers at once descend, cloud rolls 
on cloud, and warring winds contend; 
this moves him not, but in he hands his 
bride, and seats himself enraptured by 
her side; when thus to cheer the fair one 
he begun; "I hope we soon shall have a 
little sun." But she, to whom the 
weather gave no pain, who heeded not 
the blast, nor pattering rain, but most 
about her future state bethought her, 
replied: "My dear, I 'd rather have a little 
daughter. 



NATURAL. 



She 's at the window many an hour 

His coming to discover; 
And John looked up to Ellen's bower, 

And she looked on her lover. 



"TIS SAID. 



'T is said that a lion will turn and flee 
From a maid in the pride of her purity. 








SUMMER FLOWERS. 









130 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THEY MET. 

They met and loved, nor knew not why; 

Their differences were forgot; 
She burned her pride in passion's sigh, 

And love refined his lowly lot! 
Their lives were led by love's strong heart, 

Nor recked of caste's despairing sneer; 
Though fate had sent them far apart, 

Yet love had brought them very near. 



A WOMAN'S COMPLAINT. 

Ijknow that deep within your heart of 
hearts, 
You hold me shrined apart from com- 
mon things, 
And that my step, my voice, can bring to 
you 
A gladness that no other presence 
brings. 

And yet, dear love, through all the weary 
days, 
You never speak one word of tender- 
ness, 
Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my 
hand 
Within your own in loving, mute 
caress. 

You think, perhaps, I should be all con- 
tent 
To'know so well the loving place I hold 
Within your life, and so you do not dream 
How much I long to hear the story 
told. 

You cannot know, when we two sit alone, 
And tranquil thoughts within your 
mind are stirred, 
My 'heart is crying like a tired child 
For one fond look — one gentle, loving 
word. 

It may be when your eyes look into mine 

You only say, "How dear she is to me!" 

Oh, could .1 read it in your softened 

glance, 

How radiant this plain old world would 

be! 




Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a silent 
prayer 
That choicest blessings unto me be 
given, 
But if you said aloud, "God bless thee, 
dear!" 
I should not ask a greater boon from 
heaven. 

I weary sometimes of the rugged way; 
. But should you say, "Through thee 

my life is sweet," 
The dreariest desert that our path could 

cross 
Would suddenly grow green beneath 

my feet. 



I GAZED. 



I gazed, and felt upon my lips 
Th' unfinished accents hang; 

One moment's bliss, one burning kiss, 
To rapture changed each pang. 

And though as swift as lightning's flash 
Those tranced moments flew, 

Not all the waves of Time shall wash 
Their memory from my view. 



THE YOUNG WIPE'S SONG. 

The lone willow droops in its sadness; 

The stern oak stands sturdy and still; 
But a loved form is seen in the distance, 

And footsteps are heard on the hill. 

'Tis he! 'tis my Ulrick! I hear him, 

I see him, joy, he is here! 
She threw back her curls in her gladness, 

And silentlv brushed off a tear. 



THE MAIDEN. 

The maiden, though her face bespoke her 
grief 
At parting from her lover, yet seemed 
fain 
To lull her sorrow with the fond belief 
That they would meet again. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



131 






MEMORY. 

Cease, memory, cease (the friendless 

mourner cried) 
To probe the bosom too severely tried! 
Ob! ever cease, my pensive thoughts to 

stray 
Through the bright fields of fortune's 

better day; 
When youthful hope, the music of the 

mind, 
Tuned all its charms, and Eleanore was 

kind! 



COMING TIME. 

When coming time shall bless you with a 

bride, 
Let passion not persuade, but reason 

guide; 
Instead of gold, let gentle Truth endear; 
She has most charms who is the most 

sincere. 
Shun vain variety, 'tis but disease; 
Weak appetites are very hard to please. 
Though you possess all nature's gifts, 

take care; 
Love's queen has charms, but fatal is her 

snare. 



WHEN O'ER EACH BABE. 

When o'er each babe you look a last 
adieu, 
And gaze on innocence that smiles 
asleep, 
Shall no fond feeling beat, to nature true, 
Charm thee to pensive thought — and 
bid thee weep. 



WOMAN. 



Though form'd to conquer, yet too oft 

you fall 
By giving nothing, or by granting all. 
Those nymphs that yield too soon, their 

charms impair, 
_ And prove at last but despicably fair. 



SIX TIMES I'VE WRITTEN. 

Dearest Lulu: Six times I 've written, yet 
I 've not heard from you — 

Despair has whispered in my ear, you 
.have lost your lovely Lu! 

I cannot believe it ! I 've banished the 
thought from my brain, 

And concluded, tho' ye slay me, I '11 love 
thee, and write again. 

But remember, Lu, for you alone my 
heart shall ever throb; 

As in the past, so in time to come, I re- 
main, yours ever — Rob. 



THE WORLD'S WAY. 

If you spend your hours in revel, 

Crowds will come to help you feast; 
Fast, and all the world grows callous, 

Sees nor heeds you in the least. 
In the days of feast and pleasure, 

Friends are many, hearts are kind; 
When adversity is with you, 

Friends are few and eyes are blind. 

But those few — ah, yes sometimes, 

Friendship bears the test of years, 
Clings the closer in affliction, 

Blends with ours its sighs and tears. 
Some few hearts are true and loyal, 

And if we know only one, 
Then, my friend, when sorrow crushes, 

Ah, we will not weep alone. 



CLASP ME. 



Clasp me a little longer, on the brink 

Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress; 

And when this heart hath ceased to 
beat — oh! think 

That thou hast been to me all tender- 
ness. 

Of peace — imagining her lot was cast 
In heaven; for ours was not like earthly 

love. 
And must this parting be our very last? 
No! I shall love thee still, when death 

itself is past. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HENRY WARD BEECHER SAYS 

One of the great questions of the day, 
and especially in cities, is what occupa- 
tions are open to single women, — or 
married women, for that matter — h,ut es- 
pecially for maidens, by which they can 
obtain an honest livelihood without 
breaking down their health, and type- 
writing, the sewing machine, telegraph- 
ing, copying under suitable limitations, 
open a great many varieties to old- 
fashioned notions of industry. 

It is a good thing for girls to learn 
them if they never use them. One of 
the most piteous and universal spectacles 
that addresses your eyes and minds is 
that of refined and educated women who 
have, to the middle of their life, been 
affluently supplied, and in the bankruptcy 
of their husbands, or in their death, find 
themselves obliged to maintain them- 
selves and their families. l What can we 
do?' they cry. The number of things 
that a woman can do can be easily count- 
ed, and I hold that a part of family edu- 
cation should be to have an effective 
working knowledge by which they might 
maintain themselves under reversed cir- 
cumstances. 

It is all very well to undertake to en- 
force the motives of duty, but a woman 
wrenched out of her rooted ground, trans- 
planted into a poor and sandy soil and 
compelled to bring forth all the fruits 
that belong to the former station — it is 
asking a perpetual miracle. 



IF I COULD AWAKE. 

Ah, if from troubled dreams I could 
awake 
And feel thy soft warm kisses on my 
face, 
I think the sweetness of thy winsome 
grace 
Would touch me — only for the old 
love's sake. 




A WIFE'S DEVOTION. 

A young wife's devotion, upon the wide 
ocean, 
To him who lay prostrate with fever 
and pain, 
Ah! who could forget it, or willingly let it, 
This beautiful picture be penciled in 
vain. 

The love conversations, the sweet minis- 
trations, 
To one she had wedded in hope and in 
love: 
The answers so cheerful, though blue 
eyes were tearful, 
And white fingers trembled like some 
wounded dove. 

When leaped the mad billow, she 
smooth'd down his pillow, 
And laid her bright face by the side of 
his own, 
She watched and she waited till danger 
abated; 
Then naught in her eyes but sweet 
thankfulness shone. 

She ever was present with him convales- 
cent; 
And when the ship landed 'twas touch- 
ing to see, 
That sunshiny weather, the two mount 
together 
The gangway, she anxious, he happy 
and free, 

Like many earth-rangers, to me they are 
strangers; 
And though they have vanished in 
youth from my sight, 
That young wife's devotion upon the 
wild ocean, 
I ne 'er shall forget while the sun gives 
its light. 



FUNNY. 



The minister kissed the fiddler's wife 
And could not preach for thinking on 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HOW I WON HER. 

How I won her, do you ask ine? late we 

lingered in the meadow, 
* When the air was sweet with roses and 

the breath of new-mown hay, 
And each gold star hung above us like 
some gleaming Eldorado, 
In a blaze of distant glory that our 
souls might reach one day. 

Far across the drowsy valley we could 
hear the sea-birds calling 
Where the low dim downs fell sea- 
ward in the sun-set's after-gleam, 
And the far-off sound of waters on the 
wave-worn shingle falling, 
Came like tremulous faint music 
vaguely hearkened in a dream. 

Can you wonder at that moment that my 
heart was filled with daring, 
And the new-born hope within it 
sprung to life in sudden speech, 
With a flood of fiery eloquence that yet 
was half despairing, 
So far, and fair, and precious seemed 
the goal I yearned to reach ! 

Round the moon rose, pure and pallid, on 
the leaves the dewdrops glistened, 
While I waited for a whisper that 
would mar my life or bless; 
But it trembled through the ^ silence 
while with all my soul I listened, 
And my heart was glad forever: for 
my darling answered "Yes!" 




TO MY SISTER. 

Dear absent one, how often have I won- 
dered 
Why we, who are as one in mind and 
heart, 
Should be so far by cruel fortune sun- 
dered, 
That all our ways through life must 
lie apart. 



THOUGHTS ON THE LIQUOR 
QUESTION. 

I believe that liquor is a good thing 
in its place, and I further believe its best 
place is in h — . If I was in h — I might 
drink it, but I firmly believe it is not 
necessary or at all beneficial to drink it 
in this world. Whiskey is not good for 
one thing in this world, for which there 
is not something that is better. If the 
time ever comes when they say to me: 
" You'll die, if you don't drink whiskey," 
I will then say get my shroud ready. 



WILL YOU BE ONLY MINE? 

Will you be only and forever mine? 

Shall neither time nor age our souls dis- 
join? 

From this dear bosom shall I ne'er be 
torn? 

Or you grow cold, respectful, and for- 
sworn ? 

And can you not for her you love do 
more 

Than any youth for any nymph before? 



DIVORCE AND REUNION. 

Where now is all that fearful love 

Which made her hate the war's alarms? 

That soft excess with which she strove 
To keep her hero in her arms ? 

As waters from her sluices flow'd 
Unbounded sorrow from her eyes: 

To earth her bended form she bow'd 
And sent her wailings to the skies. 

But when her anxious lord return'd, 
Rais'd is her head, her eyes are dry'd; 

She smiles, as William ne'er had mourn'd, 
She looks, as Mary ne'er had cry'd. 



FRIENDS. 



The bugle calls ! We part. But know that 
whate'er our path attends, 

Tho' we have been bitter foes for years, 
we part to-day as friends. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




EBON C. INGERSOLL'S FUNERAL 
SERMON, BY R. G. INGERSOLL. 

My Friends: 

I am going to do that which the dead 
often promised he would do for me. The 
dead and living brother, husband, father, 
friend, died when manhood's morning 
almost touched noon, and while the 
shadows were still falling toward the west. 
He had not passed on life's highway the 
stone that marks the highest point, but 
being weary for a moment he lay down by 
the wayside, and placing his burden for a 
pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that 
kisses down the eye-lids still. While in 
love with life and enraptured with the 
world, he passed to silence and pathetic 
dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just 
in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the 
voyage, while eager winds are kissing 
every sail, to dash against the unseen 
rocks, and in an instant hear the billows 
roar about the sinking ship; for whether 
at mid-sea or among the breakers of the 
farther shore, a wreck must mark at last 
the end of each and all and every life. 
No matter if its every hour is rich with 
joy, it will at its close become a tragedy 
as sad and deep and dark as can be woven 
of the warp and woof of mystery and 
death. This brave and tender man, in 
every storm of life, was oak and rock, but 
in the sunshine he was vine and flower. 
He was the friend of all heroic souls; he 
climbed the heights and left all super- 
stitions far below, while on his forehead 
fell the golden dawning of a grander day. 
He loved the beautiful, and was, with 
color, form and music touched to tears. 
He sided with the weak, and with a will- 
ing hand gave alms. With loyal heart 
and the purest hand he faithfully dis- 
charged all public trusts. He believed 
that happiness was the only good, reason, 
the only torch, justice, the only worship- 
per, humanity, the only religion, and love, 
the only priest. He added to the sum of 
human joy, and were everyone for whom 
he did some loving service to bring a 
blossom to his grave, he would sleep to- 
night beneath a wilderness of flowers. 



Life is a narrow vale between the barren 
peaks of two eternities. We strive to 
look beyond the two heights; we can cry 
aloud, and the only answer is the echo of 
our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips 
of the unreplying dead there comes no 
word, but in the night of death hope 
sees a star, and listening love can hear 
the rustling of a wing. He, who sleeps 
here, when dying, mistaking the approach 
of death for the return of health, whis- 
pered, " I am better now." Let us believe, 
in spite of doubt and dogmas and tears 
and fears, that these dear words are true 
of all the countless dead. And now, to 
you who have been chosen from among 
the many men he loved, to do the last 
sad office for the dead, we give his sacred 
dust. There was, there is, no greater, 
stronger, manlier man, than him whom 
we now assign to your care for the 
moment that intervenes ere the grave 
receives him. 



A QUIET FRIEND. 

there are days that are given to glad- 
ness, 
To merry-making and wholesome cheer, 
When the heart runs out of the reach of 
sadness 
And close to the jovial crowd draws 
near; 
When song and laughter are wreathed 
together, 
A garland to bind on the brow of time, 
And whatever may be the out-door 
weather, 
We breathe the airs of a sunny clime. 

And there are times when we loathe the 
splendor 
Of gay carousals in Fashion's courts, 
And shun the youths and maids who 
attend her, 
Nor take delight in their joyous sports; 
When we tire of smiling and careless 
faces, 
And long devoutly our steps to wend 
Away from them all to secluded places, 
Our sole companion a quiet friend. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HOME AND CHILDHOOD. 

I leave the parlor and the hall, 

Filled with the ghosts of days gone by, 
Where not a picture on the wall 
But makes me cry. 

Can this be home? empty name! 
How couldst thou dream, unknowing 
one, 
That home could ever be the same 
With mother gone. 



SMILES AND KISSES. 

Blue eyed Violet, my darling, 

If we soon must part, 
I will keep your love forever 

Treasured in my heart! 
Though fair maidens smile upon me, 

I shall ne'er forget 
One who filled my heart with sunshine — 

Pure, sweet Violet. 

Press your lips to mine, my darling, 

Lift your tear-dimmed eye, 
With the old love-light there beaming, 

Ere we say good-bye! 
It will be a world of comfort 

In the future years, 
If I see your smiles at parting 

Mingle with your tears. 

Speak in low, soft voice, my darling, 

Words of love so sweet, 
While the white snow-flakes are falling 

Where the brooklets meet. 
Tell me if my love can cheer you 

When we are apart? 
Or, shall you forget, my treasure, 

Vows of lip and heart? 

When the flowers of spring, my_darling 

Bloom on dew-gemmed lea, 
In that land where dwells my treasure, 

Will you think of me? 
W "ill the song-birds sing as sweetly 

As they sang of yore, 
When you are so far from loved ones, 

On a distant shore? 




Mingle smiles and tears, my darling, 

Love and hope for me, 
While the hours pass by so swiftly, 

And your charms I see. 
You will take the sunshine with you,^ 

I shall ne 'er repine, 
If I know that you are waiting 

Somewhere to be mine. 



HAND AND HEART. 

Wedded life is home's" fair girdle; 

Ay, a rich and jewelled zone, 
If the gems that make its splendor, 

Sparkle with true love alone. 

If the twain that come together, 
Each one loving from the start, 

Only in their youth's fair morning 
Give the hand where goes the heart. 

Oh ! within this precious girdle, 

Binding with its blessed ties 
All that makes life worth the living, 

What a world of pleasure lies. 

Husband, wife, and little children, 
From the gay world set apart, 

Household comforts, fireside blessings, J 
When the hand goes with the heart, j 

Have a care, oh, simple maiden, 
Stop and think, oh! noble youth, 

Marriage is a bond eternal, 
Founded on the rock of truth. 

Turn away from idle fancies, 
Have a purpose from the start, 

Love's true love should be your watch- 
word, 
Give the hand where goes the heart. J 



HEARTS ARE TRUMPS. 

Hearts are trumps Aye ! in life's spring- 
time, when the buds of friendship 
bloom, 

And the richness of their fragrance fills 
the heart with sweet perfume 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO JULIA, WEEPING. 

Oh ! if your tears are given to care, 
If real woe disturbs your peace, 

Come to my bosom, weeping fair, 
And I will bid your weeping cease. 

But if with Fancy's vision'd fears, 
With dreams of woe your bosom thrill, 

You look so lovely in your tears 

That I must bid you drop them still. 



THE KISS AND THE SMILE. 

She stood in her beauty, pale and still — 

The roses were blowing in June — 
And he was angry and stubborn of will, 

Though it was yet the honeymoon. 
"I am sure," she said, "that the thing is 
so." 

He answered, "it cannot be; 
One of us two must be wrong, you know, 

And it certainly is not me." 

" You are not infallible, my dear, 

I w T as watching the whole day long; 
You may say what you like, the thing is 

You are certainly in the wrong. 
I am only a woman, that I know, 

But I think I can trust my sight; 
And whether you own it is so, or no, 

I am certainly in the right." 

He looked at his fair young wife, and then 

He spoke in a kinder key; 
" Few women can know as much as men, 

And you promised to honor me. 
But if I am sure, and you are sure, 

And neither will fault admit, 
There 's only one way peace to secure, — 

Now which of us ought to submit?" 

She looked at the red rose in her hand, 

And then in her husband's face; 
And then on a little golden band, 

And a better thought grew apace. 
" The one that is kindest and wisest," 
she said, 

"The folly and pride will dismiss." 
And then she lifted her fair young head, 

.And gave him a smile and a kiss. 




She was the victor, she knew she had 
won, 

When he folded her to his breast, 
And told her the thing that she had done 

Had made him of husbands most blest. 
For he that is wise must stoop to rise, 

Then love with submission requite; 
The kiss on the lips, and the smile in the 
eyes, 

Make any wife certainly right. 



DO NOT SAY. 



SHE. 



Do not say I do not love you, for I love 

you more than life, 
And the dearest hope I cherish, is that I 

may be your wife. 

HE. 

Miss Eliese, said he, I love you still, far 

more than any friend, 
But, it seems to me that all our love must 

in sweet friendship end. 

She is happy now, he mused, and may 
she henceforth happy be! 

Farewell, ideal of second love, my heart, 
at last, is free! 



YEARS MAY COME AND GO. 

Now years may come and go, and yet 
We shall not learn the word forget. 
Within my breast thine image pressed 
Hath undisturbed and sacred rest; 
For, oh, sweetheart! there cannot be 
A day for my forgetting thee. 

And as through life I pass along, 
Nor heed its ill but hate its wrong, 
And feel that time, nor land, nor sea, 
Can shake the faith I have in thee: 
While, darling; oft that love of thine, 
Makes stronger still this love of mine. 



MY PARTNER. 

Unhappy partner of my killing pain, 
Think what I feel the moment you com 
plain. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ANNA MARIA. 

Her dimple cheek and roguish eye, 
Her rounded waist and taper thigh, 

I always thought provoking. 
And when I look below her knee, 
Her foot and ankle pleases me — 

I 'm sure I am not joking. 

Full many heroes, fierce and keen, 
With her have deeply smitten been, 

Which she with scorn rejected; 
The rich, the poor, at Cupid's door, 
Have sought her smiles, and many more, 

Yet all for me neglected. 

Ye tender powers, how shall I move 
A careless maid that laughs at love? 

Cupid, to my succor fly; 
Come with all thy thrilling darts, 
Thy melting flames to soften hearts — 

Conquer for me, or I die. 



COLIN'S COMPLAINT. 

Despairing, beside a clear stream, 

A shepherd forsaken was laid; 
And while a false nymph was his theme, 

A willow supported his head. 
The wind that blew over the plain, 

To his sighs with a sigh did reply; 
And the brook in return to his pain 

Ran mournfully murmuring by. 

Alas! silly swain that I was! 

Thus sadly complaining, he cried, 
When first I beheld thy fair face, 

'T were better by far I had died. 
She talked, and I blessed the dear tongue; 

When she smiled 't was a pleasure too 
great; 
I listened, and cried, when she sung — 

Was nightingale ever so sweet? 

Ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vain, 
Thy pipe and thy laurel resign; 
Thy false one inclines to a swain 

Whose music is sweeter than thine. 

Though through the wide world I should 

range, 

'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly; 

'T was hers to be false and to change, 

is mine to be constant, and die. 




If while my hard fate I sustain, 

In her breast any pity is found, 
Let her come with the nymphs of the 
plain, 

And see me laid low in the ground. 
The last humble boon that I crave, 

Is to shade me with cypress and yew; 
And when she looks down on my grave, 

Let her own that her shepherd was 
true. 



CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. 

The merchant, to secure his treasure, 
Conveys it in a borrowed name; 

Euphelia serves to grace my measure; 
But Chloe is my real and royal flame. 

My softest verse, my darling lyre, 

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; 
When Chloe noted her desire 

That I should sing, that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 

But with my numbers mix my sighs; 

And while I sing Euphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. 



COME BACK TO ME. 

They sing in tones as glad as ever 

The songs she loved to hear, 
They braid the rose in summer garlands 

Whose flowers to her were dear. 

And still her footsteps in the passage, 

Her blushes at the door, 
Her timid words of maiden welcome, 

Come back to me once more. 

Oh, fluttering heart, control thy tumult, 

Lest eyes profane should see 
My cheeks betray the rush of rapture 

Her coming brings to me. 



TOLERATION. 

I would not mind being swallowed by 
a whale, if I had to be nibbled to death 
by minnows. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHAT IT'S COMING TO. 

Now, Bridget, I don't like this flirting, 

You will bring my house a bad name. 
Well, sure, mum, I don't think of parting, 

It 's meself that is plased wid the same. 
Look here, girl, the day that I hired you, 

You said to no cousins you'd speak; 
I did n't think so many admired you — 

You Ve had twenty here in a week. 

Well, missus, you 're very diverting, 

I 'm an Orishman, born and bred, 
And this is a free land, for certain — 

Would yees have me kape in me bed? 
There 's niver wan hour in the day, mum, 

But carriages come after you, 
But now there 's ould lad to pay, mum, 

Because I have followers too. 

See here, miss, my temper is rising, 
In few words I want you to know — 

I 'm sure I '11 do something surprising — 
You, or I, from this house now must 

go- 
Well, howly St. Nicholas save us, 

It 's not to your likes I'd be rude, 
Yees can go, an sure when ye lave us, 

I hope ye '11 find some place as good. 



ADVICE. 



Of all those sorrows that attend mankind, 

With patience bear the lot to thee as- 
signed; 

Of good and ill by words or deeds exprest, 

Choose for thyself, and always choose the 
best. 

For health and welfare prudently pro- 
vide, 

And let your lawful wants be well sup- 
plied; 

Seek not in needless luxury to waste 

Thy wealth and substance with a spend- 
thrift's haste. 

Abstain, 1 warn, from meats unclean and 
foul, 

So keep thy body pure, so free thy soul; 

So rightly judge; thy reason so maintain; 

Let that best reason ever hold the rein. 



LOVE DISARMED. 

Beneath a myrtle's verdant shade, 
As Susan, half asle.ep, was laid, 
Cupid perch'd lightly ou her breast, 
And in that heaven desir'd to rest: 
Over her paps his wings he spread; 
Between he found a downy bed, 
And nestled in his little head. 

Still lay the god; the nymph, surpris'd, 

Yet mistress of herself, devis'd 

How she the vagrant might enthral, 

And captive him, who captives all. 

Her bodice half-way she unlac'd; 

About his arms she slily cast 

The silken bond, and held him fast. 



FROWN NOT, YE FAIR. 

Frown not, ye fair, to think your lovers 
may 

Reach your cold hearts by some un- 
guarded way; 

Let other maids' misfortunes make you 
wise, 

There 's danger still in darkness and sur- 
prise; 

Whilst the respectful, like the dunce, 
sits down, 

And wastes a ten years' siege before one 
town. 

With easy freedom and a gay address, 

A pressing lover seldom wants success, 



MY SCILLA FAIR. 

Sooner, fair Willis, shall the ash remove 
From mountains, and the swelling surges 

love, 
Or humble seaweed to the hills repair; 
Ere I think any but my Scilla fair. 



SHE WHOM I HAVE CHERISHED. 

And she whom I have cherished with the 

fondest, tender care — 
Loving her more than life itself — now 

drives meto despair. 



19 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



139 



DORA. 

With Farmer Allan at the farm abode 
William and Dora. William was his son, 
And she his niece. He often look'd at 

them, 
And often thought " I '11 make them man 

and wife." 
Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, 
And yearned towards William; but the 

youth, because 
He had been always with her in the 

house, 
Thought not of Dora. 

Then there came a day 
When Allan called his son, and said, " My 

son, 
I married late; but I would wish to see 
My grandchild on my knees before I die: 
And I have set my heart upon a match. 
Now, therefore, look to Dora; she is well 
To look to; thrifty, to, beyond her age. 
She is my brothers daughter: he and I 
Had once hard words, and parted, and he 

died 
In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred 
His daughter Dora: take her for your 

wife; 
For I have wished this marriage, night 

and day, 
For many years." But William answer'd 

short: 
"I cannot marry Dora; by my life, 
I will not marry Dora." Then the old 

man 
Was wroth and doubled up his hands, and 

said, " 
" You will not, boy ! you dare to answer 

thus! 
But in my time a father's word was law, 
And so it shall be now for me. Look to it. 
Consider: take a month to think, and 

give 
An answer to my wish; or by the Lord 
That made me, you shall pack, and never- 
more 
Darken my doors again." And William 

heard, 
And answered something madly; bit his 

lips, 
And broke away. The more he look'd at 

her 



The less he liked her; and his ways were 

harsh ; 
But Dora bore them meekly. Then be- 
fore 
The month was out he left his father's 

house, 
And hired himself to work within the 

fields; 
And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and 

wed 
A laborer's daughter, Mary Morrison. 
Then, when the bells were ringing, 

Allan call'd 
His niece, and said, " My girl, I love you 

well; 
But if you speak with him that was my 

son, 
Or change a word with her he calls his 

wife, 
My home is none of yours. My will is 

law." 
And Dora promised, being meek. She 

thought, 
"It cannot be; my uncle's mind will 

change! " 
And days went on, and there was born 

a boy 
To William; then distresses came on 

him; 
And day by day he pass'd his father's 

gate, 
Heart broken, and his father help'd him 

not. 
But Dora stored what little she could 

save, 
And sent it them by stealth, nor did they 

know 
Who sent it; till at last a fever seized 
On William, and in harvest time he died. 

Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat, 
And looked with tears upon her boy, and 

thought 
Hard things of Dora. Dora came and 

said, 
" I have obey'd my uncle till now, 
And I have sinn'd, for it was all through 

me 
This evil came on William at the first. 
But, Mary, for the sake of him that 's 

gone, 
And for your sake, the woman that he 

chose, 



^ 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




And for this orphan I am come to you: 
You know there has not been for these 

five years 
So full a harvest: let me take the boy, 
And I will set him in my uncle's eye 
Among the wheat; that when his heart 

is glad 
Of the full harvest, he may see the boy, 
And bless him for the sake of him that 's 

gone." 
And Dora took the child and went away 
Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound 
That was unsown, where many poppies 

grew. 
Far off the farmer came into the field 
And spied her not; for none of all his 

men 
Dare tell him that Dora waited with the 

child; 
And Dora would have risen and gone to 

him, 
But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers 

reap'd, 
And the sun fell, and all the land was 

dark. 
But when the morrow came, she rose 

and took 
The child once more, and sat upon the 

mound; 
And made a little wreath of all the 

flowers 
That grew about, and tied it round his hat 
To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. 
Then when the farmer pass'd iuto the 

field 
He spied her, and he left his men at work 
And came, and said: "Where were you 

yesterday? 
Whose child is that? What are you do- 
ing here? " 
So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground 
And answer'd softly: u This is William's 

child!" 
"And did I not," said Allan, "did I not 
Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again, 
" Do with me as you will, but take the 

child 
And bless him for the sake of him that 's 



gone 



And Allan said, " I see it is a trick 
Got up betwixt you and the woman 
there. 




I must be taught my duty, and by you! 
You knew my word was law, and yet you 

dar'd " 
To slight it. Well — for I will take the 

boy; 
But go you hence, and never see me 

more." 
So saying, he took the boy, that cried 

aloud 
And struggled hard. The wreath of 

flowers fell 
At Dora's feet. She bowed upon her 

hands, 
And the boy's cry came to her from the 

field, 
More and more distant. She bow'd down 

her head, 
Remembering the day when first she 

came, 
And all things that had been. She bow'd 

down 
And wept in secret; and the reapers reap'd, 
And the sun fell, and all the . land was 

dark. 
Then Dora went to Mary's house, and 

stood 
Upon the threshhold. Mary saw the boy 
Was not with Dora. She broke out in 

praise 
To God, that help'd her in her widow- 
hood. 
And Dora said, "My uncle took the boy; 
But, Mary, let me live and work with 

you: 
He says that he will never see me more." 
Then answered Mary, "This shall never be, 
And thou shouldst take my trouble on 

thyself: 
And, now I think, he shall not have the 

boy, 
For he will teach him hardness, and to 

slight 
His mother; therefore thou and I will go, 
And I will have my boy, and bring him 

home; 
And I will beg of him to take thee back; 
But if he will not take thee back again, 
Then thou and I will live in one house, 
And work for William's child, until he 

grows 
Of age to help us. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




So the women kiss'd 
Each other, and set out, and reach'd the 

farm. 
The door was off the latch; they peep'd, 

and saw 
The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's 

knees, 
Who thrust him in the hollow of his arm, 
And clapped him on the hands and on 

the cheeks. 
Like one that loved him; and the lad 

stretch'd out 
And babbled for the golden seal that 

hung 
From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the 

fire. 
Then they went in: but when the boy 

beheld 
His mother, be cried out to come to her, 
And Allan set him down; and Mary said: 
" 0, father! — if you let me call you so — 
I never came a-begging for myself, 
Or William, or this child; but now I 

come 
For Dora: take her back; she loves you 

well. 
0, sir, when William died, he died at 

peace 
With all men; for I ask'd him, and he 

said, 
He could not ever rue his marrying me; 
I had been a patient wife; but, sir, he 

said 
That he was wrong to cross his father 

thus. 
' God bless him ! ' he said, l and may he 

never know 
The troubles I have gone through ! ' Then 

he turn'd 
His face and pass'd — unhappy that I am ! 
But, now, sir, let me have my boy, for 

you 
Will make him hard, and he will learn to 

slight 
His father's memory; and take Dora 

back, 
And let all this be as it was before." 

So Mary said, and Dora hid her face 
By Mary. There was silence in the 

room; 
And all at once the old man burst in 

sobs: — 




"I have been to blame — to blame — I 
have killed my son. 

I have killed him — but I loved him — 
my dear son. 

May God forgive me! — I have been to 
blame. 

Kiss me, my children." 

Then they clung about 

The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many 
times. 

And all the man was broken with re- 
morse; 

And all his love came back a hundred 
fold; 

And for three hours he sobb'd o'er Wil- 
liam's child 

Thinking of William. 

So those four abode 

Within one house together; and as years 

Went forward, Mary took another mate; 

But Dora liv'd unmarried till her death. 



MORLEY AND THE MAID. 

Then supper was set, and the feast it was 

laid, 
And Morley most lovingly whispered the 

maid. 
The maid! was she handsome? why truly, 

so-so, 
But what Morley whisper'd we never 

shall know. 



TO MR. HOWARD. 

Dear Howard, from the soft assaults of 
love, 
Poets and painters never are secure; 
Can I, untouch'd, the fair one's passions 
move, 
Or thou draw beauty, and not feel its 
power? 



STILL THE SAME. 

Yet my love for her is still the same, 
eternal, strong and true, 

Farewell dear friends! I must go. Com- 
mend me to my lovely Sue. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




JENNIE SHELLING PEAS. 

There in the cottage doorway, 

Shaded by the trees, 
One summer morn I found her, 
With all the pods around her, 
My Jennie shelling peas. 

It was a pretty picture; 

Her eyes of violet, 
Her hair all golden glowing, 
Her red lips parted, showing 

The pearls between them set. 

And oh! her cheeks were rosy, 

(We had not met before) 
When she rose up to greet me 
I lost my heart completely, 
And never found it more. 

For we were perfect strangers; 

Her father was my friend, 
A kind of far relation — 
I came for my vacation — 

Perhaps you guess the end. 

When I sat down beside her, 

I felt new joy in life; 
While shelling peas for dinner, 
I thought if I can win her, 

That girl shall be my wife. 

And all that pleasant summer 

Our young hearts nearer grew, 
And in the autumn weather 
We two went home together 
And began the world anew. 

How fondly I remember 

That cottage 'mid the trees, 
And the happy day I found her, 
With all the pods around her, 
My Jennie shelling peas. 



WHY? 



Why is a garden's wildered maze 
Like a young widow fresh and fair? 

Because it wants some hand to raise 
The weeds which have no business 
there. 




WE PARTED IN SILENCE. 

We parted in silence, we parted by night, 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
Where the fragrant limes their boughs 
unite 
We met, and we parted forever! 
The night-bird sung, and the stars above 

Told many a touching story, 
Of friends long passed to the kingdom 
of love, 
Where the soul wears its mantle of 
glory. 

We parted in silence, our cheeks were wet 
With the tears that were past control- 
ling; 
We vowed we would never — no, never 
forget, 
And those vows at the time were con- 
soling; 
But those lips that echoed the sound of 
mine 
Are as cold as that lonely river; 
And that eye, that beautiful spirit's 
shrine, 
Has shrouded its fires forever. 

And now on the midnight sky I look, 

And my heart grows full of weeping; 
Each star is to me a sealed book, 

Some tale of that loved one keeping. 
We parted in silence, — we parted in tears, 

On the banks of that lonely river; 
But the odor and bloom of those by-gone 
years 

Shall hang o'er its water forever. 



PROMISES. 

With promises he sought my love, and 

said 
Have all you wish, my fair and lovely 

maid. 



FORBEAR. 



From each dishonest act of shame for 

bear; 
Of others, and thyself, alike beware. 










A BOOK OF POEMS 



143 



a 






TO MARY. 

I could resign that eye of blue, 

Howe'erit burn, howe'er it thrill me; 

And though your lips be rich with dew; 
To lose it, Mary, would not kill me. 

That snowy neck I ne'er should miss, 
However oft I've raved about it; 

And though your heart can beat with 
bliss, 
I think my soul could live without it. 

In short, IVe learned so well to fast, 
That, sooth, my love, I know not 
whether 

I might not bring myself at last 
To do without you altogether. 



TWICE. 



Last time but one I saw my darling's face, 
The tears were in her eyes, and when 
she tried 
To hide them with a new and touching 
grace, 

Smiling she sighed. 

"Good-bye, my love," she said: "good-bye 
for aye," 
Words that fell strangely on my 
startled ear; 
But still, with soft reproach, I answered, 
"Nay, 

What dost thou fear? 

" To-morrow I return; till then, farewell." 
She raised her face to mine so grave 
and fair 
Amid her tears; I kissed them ere they 
fell, 

And left her there. 

And never doubt or warning bade me 
stay, 
And never came a fear my heart to 
chill; 
Gaily, with fond adieus, I rode away, 
Nor thought of ill. 




But often as I turned me to the place, 
Shading sad eyes from light of setting 
sun, 
She stood; and thus I saw my darling's 
face 

Last time but one. 

But one! Ah! sweet, my love, that other 
time 
I strove to look thro' bitter, blinding 
tears 
Upon thy beauty, withered in the prime 
Of early years. 

Pale moonbeams falling on a paler brow, 
And tranquil closed eyes that seem to 
sleep 
The sounder for my agony — Ah! now 
'Twas mine to weep. 

So, standing by her side, and yet alone, 
I pressed warm trembling lips to her's 
of clay, 
And murmured to my darling, dead and 
gone, 

" Good-bye for aye." 



LOVE IS ETERNAL. 

Some have said, "Love is eternal," that it 
never, never dies! 

But, alas, I see diurnal, some one's love 
o'er Lethe hies ! 

If Love had eternal being; if its blos- 
soms never die, 

Why is it that friends constrain me to 
give Fannie, love, good bye? 



TO MYRA. 



With meaner shapes deceived no more ! 
Know, I thy beauteous form adore. 



DEAR CHLOE. 

See, when you weep, dear Chloe, see 
The world 's in sympathy with thee. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHEN MY CHARMS. 

When my charms and my lovers were 
plenty, 
Ah ! why did I ever say no ? 
Now the swains, though I court them, 

all fly me, 
I sigh, but no lover comes nigh me; 
Young ladies, be warned of my woe. 



NO WIFE. 



I have no wife, and that my bliss is, 
Because there 's laid no tax on misses. 



BY AND BY. 

The repetition of one little word, 

As short as any which our language 
claims, 
Makes up as fateful phrase as e'er is 
heard, 
And murders at their birth its noblest 
aims. 

It is the offspring of the thief of time, 
And, like to-morrow, never shows its 
face; 
It is the parent of full many a crime: 
The watchword of the sluggard in 
life's race. 

'Tis hard to own that we procrastinate, 

And yet we do; I write it with a sigh; 
Then comes those other tearful words 
"too late!" 
And never after that comes, " By and 
By." 

Who knows a noble deed or action done 
In that inglorious time of " By and 
By?" 

Who has a guerdon or a victory won? 
He lives not underneath the starry sky. 

Forget the words and put them far away 
From every thought of earnest, hope- 
ful work; 
Use in their stead, "At once," "Now," 
and " To-day," 
And from a present duty never shirk. 




There is a " By and By," not of this 
world, 
But far beyond our earthly vision's 
scope; 
And when the voyage o'er, and sails are 
furled, 
We all may see it through our faith 
and hope. 



TO SYLVIA. 



Well! thou art happy, and I feel 
That I should thus be happy too; 

For still my heart regards thy weal 
Warmly as it was wont to do. 

Thy lover's blest — and 't will impart 
Some pangs to view his happier lot: 

But let them pass — Oh! how my heart 
Would hate him if he loved thee not! 

Sylvia, adieu! I must away: 

While thou art blest I '11 not repine, 
But near thee I can never stay; 

My heart would soon again be thine. 

When late I saw thy favor'd child, 
I thought my jealous heart would 
break, 

But when th' unconscious infant smiled, 
I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 

I kiss'd it and repressed my sighs, 

Its father in its face to see; 
But then, it had its mother's eyes. 

And they were all to love and me. 

Away! away! my early dream, 
Remembrance never must awake: 

Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? 
My foolish heart, be still, or break. 



LOOK AT THE ROSES. 

Look at the roses, saluting each other; 
Look at the herds all at peace on the 

plain — 
Man, and man only, makes war on his 

brother; 
And laughs in his heart at his peril and 

pain" 











A BOOK OF POEMS 



145 



LIFE IS SHORT. 

Life is short, but fate is kind, and love 

eternal has its fruits. 
The citadel of joy is reached most times 
by devious routes. 



• A LOVER'S ANGER. 

As Minnie came into the room t'other 

day, 
I peevish began: where so long could you 

stay? 
In your life-time you never regarded your 

hour; 
You promised at two, and pray look, 

child, 'tis four. 
A tempter so heedless no mortal can bear — 
Thus far I went on with a resolute air. 
Lord bless me! said she; let a body but 

speak; 
Here 's an ugly hard rosebud fallen into 

my neck; 
It has hurt me and vext me to such a 

degree — 
See here! for you never believe me; pray 

see, 
On the left side of my breast, what a 

mark it has made. 
So saying, her bosom she careless dis- 
played: 
That seat of delight I with wonder sur- 

vey'd, 
And forgot every word I design'd to have 

said. 



THE GARLAND. 

The pride of every grove I chose, 
The violet sweet and lily fair, 

The dappled pink and blushing rose, 
To deck my charming Jennie's hair. 

At morn the nymph vouchsaf'd to place 
Upon her brow the various wreath; 

The flowers less blooming than her face, 
The scent less fragrant than her breath. 

The flowers she wore along the day: 
And every nvmph and shepherd said, 

That in her hair they looked more gay 
Than glowing in their native bed. 
10 

dP 

!3 fe 



DORINDA. 

Fame of Dorinda's conquests brought 
The god of love her charms to view; 

To wound the' unwary maid he thought, 
But soon became her conquest, too. 

'T were endless to describe the various 
darts, 

With which the fair are arm'd to con- 
quer hearts. 



A TALE. 



From public noise and factious strife, 
From all the busy ills of life, 
Take me, my Celia, to thy breast, 
And lull my wearied soul to rest. 
Forever in this humble cell 
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell. 
None enter else but Love — and he 
Shall bar the door and keep the key. 

Had I a wish that did not bear 
The stamp and image of my dear, 
I'd pierce my heart through every vein, 
And die to let it out again. 
Hope of my age, joy of my youth, 
Blest miracle of love and truth; 
All that could e'er be counted mine, 
My love, and life, long since are thine. 



WHAT I SPEAK. 

What I speak me, dear Elsey, and what I 
write shows 
The difference there is betwixt nature 
and art: 
I court others in verse, but I love thee in 
prose, 
And they have my whimsies, but thou 
hast my heart. 

So when I am wearied with wandering 
all day, 
To thee, my delight, in the evening I 
come; 
No matter what beauties I saw on my 
way, 
They were but my visits, but thou art 
my home. 

—. -.. 



^ 



146 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHARLIE MACHREE. 

You Ve crossed the deep river, you Ve 

risked all for me, 
And I '11 part from )'Ou never, dear 

Charlie Machree. 



TO CYNTHIA WEEPING AND 
NOT SPEAKING. 

Bend with its weight of grief, and seem 

to grow 
Downward to earth, and kiss the root of 



woe 




Lean on my breast, and let me hold thee 
fast, 

Lock'd in these arms, think all thy sor- 
rows past; 

Or what remain, think lighter made by 
me; 

So I should think were I so held by 
thee. 

Murmur thy plaints, and gently wound 
my ears; 

Sigh on my lip, and let me drink thy 
tears; 

Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy 
face, 

And let pale grief to glowing love give 
place. 

0, speak — for woe in silence most ap- 
pears; 

Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears. 

Is there a cause which words cannot ex- 
press ? 

Can I not bear a part, nor make it less? 

I know not what to think — am I in 
fault? 

I have not, to my knowledge, erred in 
thought, 

Nor wander'd from my love; nor would 
I be 

Lord of the world, to live depriv'd of 
thee. 

You weep afresh, and at that word you 
start! 

Am I to be depriv'd then? Must we 
part? 

Curse on that word, so ready to be spoke, 

For through my lips, unmeant by me, it 
broke. 



Oh, no; we must not, will not, cannot 
part, 

And my tongue talk, unprompted by my 
heart. 

Yet speak, for my distraction grows 
apace; 

And racking fears and restless doubts in- 
crease; 

And fears and doubts to jealousy will 
turn, 

The hottest hell in which a heart can 
burn. 



BEAUTY AND MUSIC. 

Ye swains, whom radiant beauty moves, 
Or music's art with sounds divine, 

Think how the rapturous charm im- 
proves, 
Where two such gifts celestial join. 

When Cupid's bow and Phoebus' lyre 
In the same powerful hand are found; 

Where lovely eyes inflame desire, 

While trembling notes are taught to 
wound. 

Inquire not who's the matchless fair 
That can this double death bestow; 

If young Harmonia's strains you hear, 
Or view her eyes, too well you'd know. 



CECILIA. 



When fam'd Cecilia on the organ played 
And fill'd with moving sounds the 
tuneful frame, 
Drawn by the charm to hear the sacred 
maid, 
From Heaven, 'tis said, a listening 
angel came. 

happy fair! in whom with purest light, 
Virtue's united beams with beauty 
shine; 
Should heavenly guests descend to bless 
our sight, 
What form more lovely could they 
wear than thine ? 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TWO OF THEM. MIXED. 

Her head was pillowed on his breast, 
and looking up in a shy way she said: 

"Do you know, dear George, that — " 

"You mean dear James, I think, 11 he 
interrupted, smiling fondly at her mis- 
take. 

"Why, yes, to be sure. How stupid I 
am! I was thinking this was Wednesday 
evening. 11 



THE FAIR INCONSTANT. 

HE. 

Since I have long lov'd you in vain, 

And doted on every feature, 
Give me at length but leave to complain 

Of so ungrateful a creature. 
Though I beheld in your wandering eyes 

The wanton symptoms of ranging; 
Still I resolv'd against being wise, 

And lov'd you in spite of your chang- 
ing. 

SHE. 

Why should you blame what heaven has 
made, 

Or find any fault in creation? 
'Tis not the crime of the faithless maid, 

But nature^ inclination. 
'Tis not because I love you less, 

Or think you not a true one; 
But, if the truth I must confess, 

I always lov'd a new one. 




THE FAIR TRAVELER. 

In young Astrea's sparkling eye 
Resistless love has fixed his throne; 

A thousand lovers bleeding lie 

For her, with wounds they fear to 
own. 

While the coy beauty speeds her flight 
To distant groves from wbence she 
came; 

So lightning vanishes from sight, 
But leaves the forest in a flame. 



LALAGE. 

Now lovely Lalage, my generous flame 
Shall ne'er expire; I '11 boldly sing of 
thee, 
Charm'd with the music of thy name, 
And guarded by the gods of Love and 
Poetry. 



THE COQUETTE. 

AiryChloe, proud and young, 
The fairest tyrant of the plain, 
Laugh'd at her adoring swain. 

He sadly sighed; she gaily sung, 
And wanton, thus reproach'd his pain. 

AIR. 

Leave me, silly shepherd, go; 
You only tell me what I know. 

You view a thousand charms in me; 
Then cease thy prayers, I'll kinder 
grow 
When I can view such charms in 
thee. 

RECITATIVE. 

Amyntor, fir'd by this disdain 
Curs'd the proud fair and broke his 
chain; 
He rav'd, and at the scorner swore, 
And vow'd he 'd be love's fool no 
more — 
But Chloe smiVd and vow'd she call'd 
him back again. 

AIR. 

Shepherd, this I 've done to prove thee, 
Now thou art a man, I love thee; 

And without a blush resign. 
But ungrateful is the passion 

When like slaves our lovers whine. 



A SONG. 



Would you gain the lovely creature, 
Softly, gently, kindly, treat her, — 

Suffering is the lover's part. 
Beauty by constraint possessing, 
You enjoy but half the blessing, 

Lifeless charms without the heart. J 



J35T 



Q 



148 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






RUDENESS. 

'T was in a husband little less than rude, 

Upon his wife's retirement to intrude — 

He should have sent a night or two be- 
fore, 

That he would come exact at such an 
hour; 

Then he had turn'd all tragedy to jest; 

Found everything contribute to his rest; 

The picquet friend dismissed, the coast 
all clear, 

And spouse alone, impatient for her dear. 



FLORIMEL. 



Ten months after Florimel happened to 

wed, 
And was brought in a laudable manner 

to bed, 
She warbled her groans with so charming 

a voice, 
That one half of the parish was stunn'd 

with the noise. 

But when Florimel deign'd to lie pri- 
vately in, 

Ten months before she and her spouse 
were akin, 

She chose with such prudence her pangs 
to conceal, 

That her nurse, nay her midwife, scarce 
heard her once squeal. 

MOEAL. 

Learn husbands from hence, for the peace 

of your lives, 
That maids make not half such a tumult 

as wives. 




THE MURDERER. 

What frightens you thus, my good son? 

says the priest; 
You murder'd, are sorry, and have been 

confest. 
father! my sorrow will scarce save my 

bacon, 
For 't was not that I niurder'd, but that 

I was taken. 



PHYLLIS. 

Stiff in brocade, and pinch'd in stays, 
Her patches, paint and jewels on; 

All day let envy view her face, 
And Phyllis is but twenty-one. 

Paint, patches, jewels laid aside, 
At night astronomers agree 

The evening has the day belied, 
And Phyllis is some forty-three. 



HENRY'S ADVICE TO EMMA. 

Let prudence yet obstruct thy venturous 

way; 
And take good heed what men will think 

and say. 
When beauteous Emma vagrant courses 

took; 
Her father's house and civil life forsook; 
That, full of youthful blood, and fond of 

man, 
She to the wood-land with an exile ran. 
Reflect that lessen'd fame is ne'er re- 
gain' d; 
And virgin honor, once, is always stain'd. 
Timely advised, the coming evil shun; 
Better not do the deed, than weep it done. 
No penance can absolve thy guilty frame; 
Nor tears that wash out sin, can wash 

out shame. 
Then fly the sad effects of desperate love; 
And leave a banish'd man through lonely 

woods to rove. 



A LADY'S WATCH. 

A lady's watch needs neither figures nor 

wheels, 
'Tis enough that 'tis loaded with baubles 

and seals. 



MAY AND BEAUTY. 

Ah me! the blooming pride of May, 
And that of Beauty, are but one: 

At morn both flourish bright and gay; 
Both fade at evening, pale and gone 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




STANZAS. 

Weeping, murmuring, complaining, 

Lost to every gay delight, 
Myra, too sincere for feigning, 

Fears the approaching bridal night. 

Yet why impair thy bright perfection? 

Or dim thy beauty with a tear? 
Had Myra followed my direction 

She long; had wanted cause of fear. 



EMMA TO HENRY. 

Watchful I'll guard thee, and with mid- 
night prayer 
Weary the gods to keep thee in their 

care; 
And joyous ask at morn's returning ray, 
If thou hast health, and I may bless the 

day. 
My thoughts shall fix, my latest wish 

depend, 
On thee, guide, guardian, kinsman, lover, 

friend. 
By all these sacred names be Henry 

known 
To Emma's heart; and, grateful, let him 

own, 
That she, of all mankind, can love but 

him alone. 



SHE MUST THANK HER STARS. 

If the lodge business happened to keep 
me out late, 
And I come waltzing home slightly 
tight, 
She must pet and caress me, and thank 
her good stars 
That I did n't stay absent all night. 



LOVE'S DELIGHT. 

One hour of love's delight outweighs 
Whole years of universal praise; 
And one adorer kindly us'd 
, Gives truer joys than crowds refus'd. 

id 9 



THE WORLD IS FULL OF ROSES. 

For the world is full of roses, and the 

roses full of dew, 
And the dew is full of heavenly love, 

that drips for me and you. 



CUPID AND SCARLATTI. 

Harmonious son of Phcebus, see, 
'T is Love, 't is little Love I bring. 

The queen of beauty sues to thee, 
To teach her wanton boy to sing. 

EECITATIVE. 

The pleas'd musician heard with joy, 
And, proud to teach th' immortal boy, 
Did all his songs and heavenly skill 

impart; 
The boy, to recompense his art, 
Repeating did each song improve, 
And breath'd into his ears the charms 
of love. 
And taught the master thus to touch 
the heart. 



GUARD THY HEART. 

When crowds of youthful lovers around 
thee wait, 
And tender thoughts in sweetest words 
impart; 
When thou art woo'd by titles, wealth, 
and state, 
Then think on Lycidas, and guard thy 
heart. 



A REASONABLE AFFLICTION. 

On his death -bed poor Lubin lies; 

His spouse is in despair; 
With frequent sobs and mutual cries 

They both express their care. 



A different cause, says Parson Sly, 
The same effect may give. 

Poor Lubin fears that he will die, 
His wife, that he may live. 







A JBOOK OF POEMS 




TO THE NYMPH. 

To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft 

slumbers repair; 
Spread your downy wings o'er her, and 

make her your care. 



BEAUTY. CECIL. 

When heaven had you and gracious Anna 

made, 
What more exalted beauty could it add? 
Having no nobler images in store, 
It but kept up to these, nor could do more 
Than copy well what it had f ram'd before. 

If every Cecil's face had every charm 
That thought can fancy, or that heaven 

can form, 
Their beauties all become your beauty's 

due; 
They are all fair, because they 're all like 

you. 



TIME. 



But Time, the old iconoclast, at length 
Will conquer, and the marble miracle, 
Battered and broken by the sculptor's 

blows, 
Will topple from its antique base and 

leave 
No vestige of its glory on the globe; — 
While he whose cunning fingers fash- 
ioned it 
Shall live a factor in the world's design, 
An inspiration, and a force to shape 
The destinies that gird the universe. 



A SONG. 



False though she be to me and love, 
I'll ne'er pursue revenge. 

For still the charmer I approve, 
Though I deplore her change. 

In hours of bliss we oft have met, 
They could not always last; 

And though the present I regret. 
I 'm grateful for the past. 



ABSENCE. 

Alas! what pains, what racking thoughts 

he proves, 
Who lives removed from her he dearest 

loves ! 
In cruel absence doomed past joys to 

mourn, 
And think on hours that will no more 

return. 



LOVE. TWO WOMEN. 



I love, and am belov'd again. 
Strephon no more shall sigh in vain; 
I 've try'd his faith, and found him true, 
And all my coyness bid adieu. 

ii. 
I love, and am belov'd again, 
Yet still my Thyris shall complain; 
I'm sure he's miae while I refuse him, 
But when I yield I fear I'll lose him. 



Men will grow faint with tedious fasting. 

n. 
And both will tire with often tasting. 



TO DEBORAH. 

Whilst I am scorch'd with hot desire, 
In vain cold friendship you return; 

Your drops of pity on my fire 
Alas! but make it fiercer burn. 

Ah! would you have the flame supprest T 
That kills the heart it heats too fast, 

Take half my passion to your breast; 
The rest in mine shall ever last. 



BEAUTY. 



Who from love his heart securing, 
Can avoid th' enchanting pain? 

Pleasure calls with voice alluring, 
Beauty softly binds the chain. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ANJELICA. 

Did ever branch so sweet a blossom bear? 

Or ever early fruit appear so fair? 

For thou wert light and life and health 

to me; 
The sun but thankless shines that shows 

not thee. 



MOLLIE. 



Tell me no more I am deceived, 
That Mollie's false and common; 

I always knew (at least believed) 
She was an honest woman. 

As such I lik'd, as such caress'd, 

She still was constant when possess'd, 
She could do more for no man. 

ii. 
But oh! her thoughts on others ran, 

And that you think a hard thing; 
Perhaps she fancy'd you the man, 

And I don't care a farthing; 
You think she 's false, I 'm sure she's kind ; 
I take her body, you, her mind, 

Who has the better bargain? 



JESSIE. 



Expect that birds should only sing to 
you, 

And as you walk, that every tree should 
bow; 

Expect those statues as you pass should 
burn, 

And that with wonder men should stat- 
ues turn. 

Such beauty is enough to give things life, 

But not to make a husband love his wife. 

Husbands like him we everywhere may 
see; 

But where can we behold a wife like thee. 



SAFE. 



He's only safe whose armour of defense 
Is adamantine innocence. 




MYRA. 

Love frowns in beauteous Myra's eyes; 

Ah nymph! those cruel looks give o'er, 
While love is frowning, beauty dies, 

And you can charm my heart no more. 



CONSTANTIA. 

Thy origin 's divine I see, 

Of mortal race thou canst not be; 

Thy lip a ruby lustre shows; 

Thy purple cheek outshines the rose. 

Constantia see, thy faithful slave 
Dies of the wound thy beauty gave; 
Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try 
From fond pursuing love to fly. 

Thy pity to my love impart; 
Pity my bleeding, aching heart; 
Regard my sighs and flowing tears, 
And with a smile remove my fears. 

A wedded wife if thou wouldst be, 
By sacred Hymen joined to me, 
Ere yet the western sun decline, 
My hand and heart shall both be thine. 



LOVELY LOUISE. 

Lovely Louise, by his side 
Blooming, sweet, in beauty's pride. 
Happy, daring, happy pair! 
None but the brave deserve the fair! 



A WISH. 



Well, peace to thy heart, though an- 
other's it be, 

And health to thy cheek, though it bloom 
not for me. 



A TRUE MAID. 

No, no; for my virginity, 
When I lose that, says Rose, I'll die. 
Behind the elms, last night, cried Dick, 
Rose, were you not extremely sick? 








A BOOK OF POEMS 



<fl 



WHENCE IS IT. 

Whence is it, that in one fair piece we 

find 
The various beauties of the female kind; 
Sure but in one such different charms 

agree, 
And Henrietta is that phoenix — she. 



PA'S CONSENT. 

Now Joe, I feel that pa's consent can be 

sometime won by you! 
Strive to win it Joe, and leave me not, 

your broken-hearted Lu. 



LOVE'S POWER. 

Of men too rough for peace, too rude for 

arts, 
Love's power can penetrate the hardest 

hearts; 
And through the closest pores a passage 

find, 
Like that of light, to shine o'er all the 

mind. 
The want of love does both extremes pro- 
duce; 
Maids are too nice, and men as much too 

loose ; 
While equal good an amorous couple find, 
She makes him constant, and he makes 

her kind. 

For love, the timorous bashful maid 
Of nothing but denying is afraid; 
For love, she overcomes her shame, 
Forsakes her fortune, and forgets her 

fame; 
Yet, if with a constant lover blest, 
Thanks Heaven for that, and never minds 

the rest. 




FOREVER TRUE. 

Eternal are the chains which here 
The generous souls of lovers bind; 

When Hymen joins our hearts we swear 
To be forever true, and kind ! 



I BEG OF YOU. 

I beg of you, my dearest, then, 

Accept my love — don't spurn it! 

But make me happiest of men 
By saying you '11 return it. 



REMEMBER. 



Remember all those vows between us past, 
When I from all I value parted last; 
May you alike with kind impatience burn, 
And something miss, till I with joy re- 
turn; 
And soon may pitying Heaven that bless- 
ing give, 
As in the hopes of that alone I live. 



MAY. 

May the the wings of love never lose a 

feather. 
May the tax-gatherer never find occupa- 
tion in the world to come. 
May the man never grow healthy, wealthy 

or fat, 
Who carries dishonor in the crown of his 

hat. 
May this old bird never be caught with 

chaff. 
May the sons of liberty marry the 

daughters of virtue. 
May the gales of prosperity waft us to 

the port of happiness. 
May we never be so selfish as to blast the 

happiness of our friends. 
May we live to learn, and learn to live 

uprightly. 
May reason guide, and caution direct us 

in the pathway of right. 
May we be proud of our sons who are 

dutiful to their parents. 
May we be grateful to our daughters 

who marry good husbands. 
May we always do right, without hopes 

of reward or fears of punishment. 
May the whole human race be finally 

holy and happy. 




R 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



153 



a 



% 



MOTTOES AND COUPLETS. 

All night and day I think of you — 
Susanna, Susan, Susie, Sue. 

Happy will be that happy man 
Who wins the heart of Mary Ann. 

When shall I taste true happiness? 

'T is when my charming Kate says " Yes." 

I kissed a dewy rosebud cleft in twain, 
And fancied it the lips of Mary Jane. 

Miss! if to you \\s, all the same, 

How would you like to change your name ? 

I 'd give a bank and all that 's in it, 
To press your lovely lips one minute. 

Here 's^ior the girl 'whose charms ne'er 

vary, 
My dear, delightful, charming Mary. 

Sweet is the girl who reads this line; 
I wish her sweetness were all mine. 

Oh, if you 'd change your maiden appel- 
lation, 

Ij'd give you mine, miss, without hesita- 
tion. 

I think I 'd like to kiss the peachy bloom 
That crowns the prettiest cheeks within 
this room. 

I love sweet Kate — my wife I'd make 

her — 
But,jf aith ! I don't know how to take 

her. 

My charming maiden! pray don't blame 

me — 
You owe me — and I wish you 'd pay me. 

I kissed your portrait, Fanny, but the 

kiss was all in vain; 
If it had been like you, it would have 

kissed me back again. 

This world is quite as beautiful as other 

worlds above, 
And 'if we'd only make it so, 'twould be 
j\ as full of love. 



T'lS SWEET TO BE DECEIVED 
BY THEE. 

They bid me shun your blush and smile; 

They bid me doubt your dazzling eyes; 
They tell me, love, of many a wile 

You wear, your victims to surprise. 
Ah! weave them still! if false they be; 

'T is sweet to be deceived by thee. 



A FEBRUARY FREEZE. 

A little February freeze 
Will do your love no ill: 

If true, like sap in maple trees, 
'Twill rise the sweeter still; 

So not till sugar-time I say 

Whether I like you, yea or nay. 



THE BRIDE. 



She stood like an angel just wandered 
from heaven, 
A pilgrim benighted away from the 
skies; 
And little we deemed that to mortals 
were given 
Such visions of beauty as come from 
her eyes. 

She looked up and smiled on the many 
glad faces, 
The friends of her childhood who stood 
by her side; 
But she shone o'er them all like a Queen 
of the Graces, 
When, blushing, she whispered the 
vow of a bride. 



WITH A GARLAND. 

This garland I send, with the love of a 
friend, 
And fresh with the sweetest perfume; 
'Tis an emblem of thee, and it asketh for 
me 
One thought from thy heart's precious 
bloom. ^ 



A 



154 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



AN ADMISSION. BY FRANK. 

To all the wealth my father's care laid by, 
I added wings, and taught it how to fly. 



SAM. 

Poor Sam caught his death standing 

under a spout, 
Expecting, till midnight, that Nan would 

come out. 



NOT ONE TO SPARE. 

A father and mother, in straightened circumstances, 
with seven children, were offered by a wealthy but 
childless neighbor a comfortable provision on condition 
that they would give him one of their children. This 
beautiful poem tells the result. 

"Which shall it be? Which shall it be ?" 
I looked at John — John looked at me, 
(Dear, patient John, he loves me yet, 
As well as though my locks were jet,) 
And when I found that I must speak, 
My voice sounded strangely low and weak. 

" Tell me again what Robert said! " 
And then I, listening, bent my head; 
" This is his letter: 1 will give 
A house and land while you shall live, 
If in return from out your seven, 
One child to me for aye is given." 

I looked at John's old garments, worn, 
I thought of all that John had borne 
Of poverty, and work, and care, 
Which I, though willing, could not share; 
I thought of seven mouths to feed, 
Of seven little children's need. 

And then of this. — "Come, John," said I, 
" We '11 choose among them as they lie 
Asleep;" so walking hand in hand, 
Dear John and I surveyed our band. — 
First to the cradle lightly stepped, 
Where Lillian, the baby, slept, 
A glory 'gainst the pillow white. 
Softly the father stooped to lay 
His rough hand down in loving way, 
When dream or whisper made her stir, 
And huskily he said: " Not her, not her." 





We stooped beside the trundle bed, 
And one long ray of lamplight shed 
Athwart the boyish faces there, 
In sleep so beautiful and fair. 

I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek 
A tear undried. Ere John could speak, 
He 's but a baby, too, said I, 
And kissed him as we hurried by. 

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face 
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace. 
"Not for a thousand crowns, not him," 
He whispered, while our eyes were dim. 
Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son, 
Turbulent, reckless, idle one — 
Could he be spared? "Nay, he who gave, 
Bid us befriend him to his grave; 
Only a mother's heart can be 
Patient enough for such as he. 

"A.nd so," said John, " I would not dare 
To send him from her bedside prayer." 

Then stole we softly up above 

And knelt by Mary, child of love. 

Perhaps for her 'twould better be, 

I said to John. Quite silently 

He lifted up a curl that lay 

Across her cheek in wilful way, 

And shook his head, " Nay love, not thee." 

The while my heart beat audibly. 

Only one more, our eldest lad. 
Trusty and faithful, good and glad — 
So like his father. " No, John, no — 
I cannot, will not let him go," 
And so we wrote in courteous way, 
We could not drive one child away; 
And afterwards toil lighter seemed, 
Thinking of that of which we dreamed, 
Happy in truth that not one face 
Was missed from its accustomed place; 
Thankful to work for all the seven, 
Trusting the rest to One in Heaven. 



NO PARTNERSHIP. 

Love, well thou know'st, no partnership 

allows; 
Cupid, averse, rejects divided vows 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WORLDLINGS. 

Let worldlings ask our help, or fear our 

harms; 
We can lie safe, lock'd in each other's 

arms. 



NELLY. 



Whilst others proclaim 

This nymph or that swain, 
Dearest Nelly, the lovely, I '11 sing; 

She shall grace every verse; 

I '11 her beauties rehearse, 
Which lovers can't think an ill thing. 

Her eyes shine as bright 

As stars in the night, 
Her complexion divinely as fair; 

Her lips, red as a cherry, 

Would a hermit make merry, 
And black as a coal is her hair. 

Her breath, like a rose, 

Its sweets does disclose; 
Whenever you ravish a kiss. 

Like ivory inchas'd, 

Her teeth are well placed: 
An exquisite beauty she is. 

Her plump breasts are white, 

Delighting the sight, 
There Cupid discovers her charms; 

Oh! spare then the rest, 

And think of the best, 
'Tis heaven to lie in her arms. 

She 's blooming as May, 

Brisk, lively, and gay, 
The graces play all round about her; 

She 's prudent and witty, 

Sings wondrously pretty, 
And there is no living without her. 



THOU. 



Thou, thou art fame, and all the world to 

me; 
All day I dote, and dream all night of 

thee. 




THE PEACOCK. 

matchless bird! whose race, with nicest 

care, 
Heaven seems in pleasure to have form'd 

so fair; 
Though numerous rivals of thy wing 

there be 
That share our praise, yet none compare 

with thee. 



AN IMAGE OF PLEASURE. 

Solace of life, my sweet companion lyre; 
On this fair bough I '11 hang thee high, 
While the gay fields all soft delights in- 
spire, 
And not one cloud deforms the smiling 
sky. 

While whispering gales, that court the 
leaves and flowers, 
Play through the strings and gently 
make thee sound, 
Luxurious I'll dissolve the flowing hours 
In balmy slumbers on the carpet 
ground. 

But see what sudden gloom obscures the 
air! 
What falling showers impetuous change 
the day! 
Let's rise, my lyre, — Ah, Pleasure, false 
as fair! 
How faithless are thy charms, how 
short thy stay! 



TO A LADY. 



It is not right old friends to part; 

And you, dear lady, should not do it; 
So give me back my stolen heart, 

Or take my body nearer to it. 



LOVE RUN OUT. 

I will love her no more, for no love is 

without 
Its limit in measure: and mine has run 

out. 





A BOOK OP POEMS 




EASY THINGS. 

Every sweet with sour is tempered still. 

That maketh it be coveted the more: 
Easy things that may be got at will, 

Most sorts of men do set but little store. 



LOVE NOT. 



Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of 
clay! 
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of 
earthly flowers — 
Things that are made to fade and fall 
away 
Ere they have blossomed for a few short 
hours. 

Love not! the thing ye love may change! 

The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, 

The kindly beaming eye grow cold and 

strange, 

The heart still warmly beat, yet not be 

true. 



THE SILENT LOVEE. 

Passions are likened best to floods and 

streams, 
The shallow murmur, but the deep are 

dumb; 
So when affection yields discourse, it 

seems 
The bottom is but shallow whence they 

come; 
They that are rich in words must needs 

discover 
They are but poor in that which makes a 

lover. 



SWEET GOOD NIGHT. 

Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are wet, 

She heaves a gentle sigh. 
Her hair is mussed, she scarce knows yet 

What's best — to laugh or cry. 
What makes her blush and tremble so 

With mingled joy and fright? 
The first time in his life, her beau 

Has kissed her sweet good night. 



DEFER NOT. 

Defer not till to-morrow to be wise, 
To-morrow's sun on thee may never rise. 



DIAMEDE. 



Happy in health, long let me see the sun, 
And lov'd by all, when my last race is 
run. 



IF WOMEN COULD BE FAIR. 

If women could be fair, and yet not fond, 
Or that their love were firm, not fickle 

still, 
I would not marvel that they make men 

bond 
By service long to purchase their good 

will. 
But when I see how frail those creatures 

are, 
I muse that men forget themselves so far. 

To mark the choice they make, and how 

they change, 
How oft from Phoebus do they flee to 

Pan, 
Unsettled still, like haggards wild they 

range, 
These gentle birds that fly from man 

to man; 
Who would not scorn and shake them 

from the fist, 
And let them fly, fair fools, which way 

they list. 

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, 
To pass the time when nothing else 
can please, 
And train them to our lure with subtle 
oath, 
Till weary of their wiles, ourselves we 
ease, 
And then we say when we their fancy 

try, 

To play with fools, oh, what a fool was I. 



TO BE BELOVED. 

To be beloved is all I need, 
And when I love, I love indeed. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



157 



ENGLISH PROVERBS. 

All are not friends who speak ns fair. 

A man may cause his own dog to bite 
him. 

A man must ask his wife leave to 
thrive. 

An honest man's word is as good as his 
bond. 

An idle brain is the devil's work-shop. 

Before thou marry, be sure of a house 
wherein to tarry. 

Be slow to promise, and quick to per- 
form. 

Better it is to be found alone than in 
bad company. 

Better go to bed supperless than to 
rise in debt. 

Catch not at the shadow and lose the 
substance. 

Charity begins at home, but does not 
end there. 

Children suck the mother when they 
are young, and the father when they are 
old. 

Constant occupation prevents tempta- 
tion. 

Daub yourself with honey and you will 
have plenty of flies. 

Deep rivers flow with silent majesty, 
shallow brooks are noisy. 

Depend not so much upon fortune as 
upon good conduct. 

Deserve success and you shall com- 
mand it. 

Do n't be all your days trotting in a 
cabbage leaf. 

Don't neglect to feather your nest. 

Down with the dust (pay the money 
for what you buy). 

Every couple is not a pair. 

Every man is the architect of his own 
fortune. 



Fall not out with a friend for a trifle. 




Fools make feasts, and wise men eat 
them. 

Fortune knocks once at least at every 
man's door. 

Get thy spindle and distaff ready, and 
God will send flax. 

God help the rich, the poor can beg. 

Happy is he whose friends were born 
before him. 

Help tbe lame dog over the stile. 

He that lendeth loseth double (loses 
both his money and his friend). 

He that lies down with dogs must ex- 
pect to rise with fleas. 

He that plants not corn, sows thistles. 

He that stays in the valley will never 
get over the hill. 

Never try to catch fish in an empty 
pond (never try to make money from 
those who have none). 

He who spends all he gets, is in the 
highroad to beggary. 

He who swims in sin will sink in sor- 
row. 

Idle folks have the most and hardest 
labor. 

It costs more to revenge injuries than 
to bear them. 

It is less painful to learn in youth than 
to be ignorant in old age. 

It is no small conquest to overcome 
one's self. 

It's wit to pick a lock and steal ahorse, 
but wisdom to let them alone. 

Keep a thing seven years and you will 
find use for it. 

Keep no more cats than will catch 
mice. 

Keep good men company and you shall 
be of the number. 

In all the games you undertake, play 
catch as can. 

Lips, however rosy, must be fed. 

Many go out for wool and come home 
shorn. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




One bad example spoils many good pre- 
cepts. 

Praise the sea, but keep on land. 

Search others for their virtues, thyself 
for thy faults. 

Spare when you are young and spend 
when you are old. 

Study to be worthy of your parents. 

Take heed of an ox before, an ass be- 
hind, and a knave on all sides. 

Tell me the company you keep and I 
will tell you what you are. 

The eye of the master does more work 
than both of his hands. 

The handsomest flower is not always 
the sweetest. 

They love too much that die for love. 

When the cat 's away the mice will 
play. 

Wool sellers know wool buyers. 

Many a white hen raises a black 
chicken. 

A kiss and a drink of water make a 
poor breakfast. 

Be a friend to yourself and others will 
befriend you. 

Always count your money after your 
kin. 

Happy the wife that marries a mother- 
less son. 

He will soon be a beggar, that cannot 

say, No. 



DID WOMAN'S CHARM. 

Did woman's charm thy youth beguile, 
And did the fair one faithless prove? 

Hath she betrayed thee with a smile, 
And sold thy love? 



'Twas a false bewildering fire: 




Live! 

Too often love's insidious dart 
Thrills the fond soul with fond desire, 

But kills the heart. 



I 'M GROWING: OLD. 

My days pass pleasantly away, 

My nights are blessed with sweetest 
sleep; 
I feel no symptoms of decay, 

I have no cause to mourn or weep; 
My foes are impotent and shy, 

My friends are neither false, nor cold, 
And yet of late I often sigh 
I 'm growing old. 



'TIS THE LAST TIME. 

"'Tis the last time, darling" he gently 

said. 
As he kissed her lips, like the cherries 

red, 
While a fond look shone in his eyes of 

brown, 
My own is the prettiest girl in town. 
To-morrow the bell from the tower will 

ring 
A joyful peal. Was there ever a king 
So truly blest on his royal throne, 
As I shall be when I claim my own. 



LOVE. 



Ok love ! that trance divine, in which the 

soul, 
Unchang'd with worldly cares, may range 

without control, 
And soaring to her heaven, from thence 

inspir'd can teach 
High mysteries, above poor Reason's 

feeble reach. 



STYLE. 



My sisters can paint, play music, and 
flirt, 

But have ne'er stoop'd so low as to laun- 
dry a shirt. 



EMMA. 



Enchanting vision* who can be 



Unmov'd that turns his eyes on thee 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



U 



159 



PRETTY CHLORIS WAITS ON ME. 

Fanny, since we have both been kind, 
And of each other had our fill ; 

Tell me what pleasure you can find, 
In forcing nature 'gainst her will. 

Let us no impositions set, 

Or clogs upon each other's heart; 
But, as for pleasure first we met, 

So now for pleasure let us part. 

We both have spent our stock of love, 
So consequently should be free. 

Sammy expects you in yon grove, 
And pretty Chi oris waits on me. 



A MARRIAGE CEREMONY. 

Jim, will you take Bet 
Without a regret, 
To love and to cherish 
Till one of you perish, 
And laid under the sod 
So help you God? 
Yes, sir'ee. 

Bet, will you take Jim 
And cling to him 
Both out and in, 
Through thick and thin, 
Holding him to your heart 
Till death do you part. 
You bet. 

SQUIEB. 

Through this alternate joy and strife, 
I now pronounce you man and wife. 



AMYNTA. 




Farewell, Amynta, we must part; 

The charm has lost its power, 
Which held so fast my captive heart 

Until this fatal hour. 

Hadst thou not thus my love abus'd, 

And us'd me ne'er so ill, 
Thy cruelty I had excus'd, 

And I had lov'd thee still. 



CINDERELLA. 

I '11 sing you sweet songs till the stars 

rise above me, 
Then, wandering, I '11 wish you in silence 

to love me. 



DORINDA. 



Still, Dorinda, I adore, 

Think I mean not to deceive you; 
For I lov'd you much before, 
And alas! now love you more, 

Though I force myself to leave you. 

Staying, I my vows shall fail; 

Virtue yields, as love grows stronger 
Fierce desires will sure prevail; 
You are fair, and I am frail, 

And dare trust myself no longer. 

You, my love, too nicely coy, 

Lest I should have gained the treasure, 
Made my vows and oaths destroy 
The pleasing hopes I did enjoy 

Of all my future peace and pleasure. 

To my vows I have been true, 

And in silence hid my anguish; 
But I cannot promise, too, 
What my love may make me do, 
. While with her for whom I languish. 

For in thee strange magic lies, 
And my heart is too, too tender; 

Nothing's proof against those eyes, 

Best resolves and strictest ties 

To their force must soon surrender. 

But, Dorinda, you're severe, 
I most doating, thus to sever; 

Since from all I hold most dear, 

That you may no longer fear, 
I divorce myself forever. 



ALAS! 



Alas! how slight a cause may move 
Dissension between hearts that love 





160 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




AN ANECDOTE. 

Charles Lamb, once sitting down to 
play whist with Elliston, whose hands 
were very dirty, said, after looking at 
them for some time, " Well Elliston, if 
dirt were trumps, what a hand you would 
have." 



HENRY TO MATILDA. 

Since by ill-fate I'm forced away, 

And snatch'd so soon from those dear 
arms, 

Against my will I must obey, 

And leave tb ose sweet endearing charms. 

Yet still love on, and never fear 
But you and constancy will prove 

Enough my present flame to bear, 

And make me, though in absence, love. 

For, though your presence fate denies, 
I feel alas! the killing smart; 

And can with undiscerned eyes, 
Behold your picture in my heart. 



IF I COULD FIND. 

If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber floor — 

If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 
And hear it patter in my house once 
more, — 

If I could mend a broken cart to-day, 
To-morrow make a kite to reach the 

sky, 

There is no woman in God's world could 
say 
She was more blissfully content than I. 



FOR LOVE. 



For love the miser will his gold despise; 
The false grow faithful and the foolish 

wise; 
Cautious the young, and complaisant the 

old, 
.,;. Tbe cruel gentle, and the coward bold. 



LINES WITH GERANIUMS AND 
ROSE-LEAVES. 

Let this sweet-leaved geranium be 
Entwined around thy clustering hair; 

And thy red lips shall paint to me 
How bright its scarlet blossoms are. 

Twine these young rose-leaves round thy 
head, 
And I shall think their flowers are 
there: 
The red rose on thy rich cheek spread, 
The white upon thy forehead fair. 



BE QUIET, OR I'LL CALL MY 
MOTHER. 

As Kate was sitting in a wood, 

Beneath an oak tree's leafy cover, 
Musing in pleasant solitude — 

Who should come by but John her 
lover ! 
He pressed her hand, he kissed her cheek, 

Then warmer glowing kissed the other, 
While she exclaimed, and strove to shriek, 

Be quiet, or I'll call my mother! 



He talked so long, and talked so well, 

And vowed he meant not j to ^deceive 
her, 
Kate felt more grief than she could tell, 

When with a sigh he rose to leave her. 
" Oh! John," said she, "and must you go? 

I love you better than all other, 
There is no use to hurry so, 

I never meant to call my mother." 



I HAD A BEAU. 

I had a beau whose name was Joe, 

That took me out to ride; 
He said I was his darling Em, 

And soon must be his bride. 

But when he gently squeezed my hand, 

And for a kiss he prayed, 
I said "oh, no, don't tease me so, 

For I' 11 die an old maid." 




ass* 



162 



A BOOK OP POEMS 



cP 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead 

I would not have the rude and gaping 
crowd 

Around me gather, and, mid lamenta- 
tions loud, 

Tell of my virtues, and with vain regret 

Bemoan my loss, and, leaving me, so soon 
forget. 

Bat I would have the few, the kindly 
heart, 

Who, when misfortune came, so nobly 
did their part; 

These would I have — no more — no 
less, 

When I am dead. 

When I am dead 
I would not have the high and storied 

stone 
Plac'd o'er my grave, and there be left 

alone; 
But I would have some living thing I 

once did love, 
Ere I did leave the joyous world above, 
Plac'd o'er me, and in each succeeding 

year 
I'd have my friends renew them, and oft 

linger near, 
With loving thoughts upon the dear one 

laid below, 
And talk of times departed long ago, 
When I am dead. 

When I am dead 

Forgive — 0, this I pray for more than 
all— 

The anguish I have caused, the deed be- 
yond recall; 

Think kindly of me as I lie so cold, so 
still, 

So poor a subject for thine angered ill. 

Think of some generous deed, some good 
word spoken, 

Of hearts bound up I found so sad and 
broken; 

Think gently, when this last long rest is 
mine, 

And gaze upon my form with looks be- 
nign — 

When I am dead. 



FOR ALL WHO DIE. 

It hath been said for all who die 

There is a fear. 
Some panting, bleeding heart to sigh 

O'er every bier; 
But in that hour of pain and dread 

Who will draw near 
Around my humble couch and shed 

One farewell tear? 

When lying on my earthly bed 

In icy sleep, 
Who then by pure affection led 

Will come and weep? 
By the pale moon implant the rose 

Upon my breast, 
And bid it cheer my dark repose, 

My lonely rest? 

Could I but know when I am sleeping 

Low in the ground, 
One faithful heart would then be keeping 

Watch all around, 
As if some gem lay shrined beneath 

That cold sod's gloom, 
'T would mitigate the pangs of death 

And light the tomb. 

Yes, if in that hour I could feel, 

From halls of glee 
And beauty's presence one would steal 

In secrecy, 
And come and sit or stand by me 

In night's deep noon, 
Oh, I would ask of memory 

No other boon. 

But ah, a lonelier fate is mine, 

A deeper woe; 
From all I've loved in youth's sweet time 

I soon must go. 
Draw round me my pale robes of white, 

In a dark spot 
To sleep thro' death's long, dreamless 
night, 

Lone and forgot. 




FAITH IN LOVE. 

Whoso in love believeth, him I trust; 
Whoso despiseth love, suspect I must. 









A BOOK OF POEMS 



163 



FAIRY JEANNETTE. 

There 's a sweet little girl that I fondly 
call mine; 
To me she 's as dear as my life; 
But no matter how handsome or young 
I might be, 
never could make her my wife. 

Quite strange it may seem, when to me 
she 's so dear, 
Why I cannot marry my pet; 
She 's my own little daughter, the pride 
of my home; 
My own little fairy Jeannette. 

Chorus — Pure as a lily, more lovely 
and fair, 

Brighter than all I have met; 
None with her beauty can ever compare, 

My own little fairy Jeannette. 

Her eyes are my sunshine and cheer me 
all day; 
Her voice is like melody's tone; 
She waits for my coming when I 'm far 
away; 
Her kisses are for me alone. 

She dances around me so roguish and 

sly, 

My troubles I quickly forget; 
Ah! my life would be weary, and oft 
would I sigh, 
Had I not my fairy Jeannette. 

Chorus — Pure as a lily, more lovely and 
fair, 

Brighter than all I have met; 
None with her beauty can ever compare, 

My own little fairy Jeannette. 



ASPIRATIONS. 

Life should be full of earnest work, 

Our hearts undashed by fortune's 
frown ; 
Let perseverance conquer fate, 

And merit seize the victor's crown. 
The battle is not to the strong, 

The race not always to the fleet; 
And he who seeks to pluck the stars 

Will lose the jewels at his feet. 



MOTHER AND CHILD. 

The wind blew wide the casement, and 

within, — 
It was the loveliest picture! — a sweet 

child 
Lay in its mother's arms and drew its 

life 
In pauses from the fountain, — the white 

round 
Part shaded by loose tresses, soft and 

dark, 
Concealing, but still showing, the fair 

realm 
Of so much rapture, as green shadowing 

trees 
With beauty shroud the brooklet. The 

red lips 
Were parted, and the cheek upon the 

breast 
Lay close, and, like the young leaf of the 

flower, 
Wore the same color, rich and warm and 

fresh : — 
And such alone are beautiful. Its eye, 
A full blue gem, most exquisitely set, 
Looked archly on its world, — the little 

imp, 
As if it knew even then that such a 

wreath 
Were not for all; and with its playful 

hands 
It drew aside the robe that hid its realm, 
And peeped and laughed aloud, and so it 

laid 
Its head upon the shrine of such pure 

And laughing, slept. And while it slept, 

the tears 
Of the sweet mother fell upon its cheek: 
Tears, such as fall from April skies, and 

bring 
The sunlight after. They were tears of 

joy; 

And the true heart of that young mother 

then 
Grew lighter, and she sang unconsciously 
The silliest ballad-song that ever yet 
Subdued the nursery's voices, and brought 

sleep 
To fold her sabbath wings above its 

COUch. rN 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




I WANT 

A girl with cheeks like hollyhocks, 

Industrious, kind, and true; 
That 's smart enough to foot my socks 

And mend my clothes like new. 

A girl that never pledged a vow 

To any one but me — 
That's been brought up to milk a cow, 

And bake warm cakes for tea. 



MEMORY. 



Forget thee? Never! Let the verdant 

Spring 
Forget to bud — Autumn ripe fruits to 

bring; 
Let stars forget to shine — days sunless 

be — 
But never can I cease to think of thee. 



FOOTPRINTS. 

Ah! while we view the rolling tide, 
Down which our rolling minutes glide 

Away so fast, 
Let us the present hour employ, 
And deem each future dream a joy 

Already past. 

Let no vain hope deceive the mind; 
No happier let us hope to find 

To-morrow than to-day. 
Our golden dreams of yore were bright; 
Like them the present shall delight — 

Like them decay. 

Alike the rivers lordly tide, 
Alike the humble rivulets glide, 

To that sad wave; 
Death levels poverty and pride, 
And rich and poor sleep side by side 

Within the grave. 

Our birth is but a starting place; 
Life is the running of the race, 

And death the goal: 
There all our glittering toys are brought — 
The path alone of all unsought, 

Is found of all. 




See then how poor and little worth 
Are all those glittering toys of earth 

That lure us here; 
Dreams of a sleep that death must break; 
Alas! before it bids us wake, 

We disappear. 



LIFE'S TRACK. 

Some feet there be which walk life's 
track unwounded, 
Which find but pleasant ways: 
Some hearts there be to which this life 
is only 
A round of happy days. 

But these are few. Far more there are 
who wander 
Without a hope or friend, — 
Who find their journey full of pains and 
losses, 
And long to reach the end. 

Love, for awhile, will make the path be- 
fore them 
All dainty, smooth, and fair, — 
Will cull away the brambles, letting only 
The roses blossom there. 



FRIENDSHIP'S WISH. 

If I were that fairy, by poets created, 
Whose power in the world was to do 
what she would, 
Who flew on the glad earth with treas- 
ures o'erfreighted, 
Still crowning the beautiful, blessing 
the good — 
I 'd fold in my pinions the purest and 
fairest 
Of all the bright treasures in earth or 
in sea. 
I 'd gather of all the world's glories the 
rarest, 
And bring them, my beautiful being, to 
thee. 



FRIENDS. 



We have been friends together, 
Shall a light word part us now? 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I WISH. 

INvish but what 1 have at will; 

wander not to seek for more; 
I like the plain, I climb no hill; 

In greatest storms I sit on shore, 
And laugh at them that toil in vain 
To get what must be lost in again. 

My wealth is health and perfect ease; 

My conscience clear my chief defense; 
I never seek by bribes to please, 

Nor by desert to give offense. 
Thus do I live, thus will I die; 
Would all did so, as well as I. 



MY SWEETHEART. 

When first I saw thee, gentle, shy, and 

fond, 
My purest love, first hope, and dearest 

treasure, 
My heart received thee with a joy beyond 
All that it yet had felt of earthly 

pleasure; 
Nor thought that any love again might 

be 
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee. 

And thine was many an art to win and 
bless, 
The cold and stern to joy and fond- 
ness warming; 

The coaxing smile, the frequent fond ca- 
ress, 
The earnest, tearful prayer all warmth 
disarming! 

Again my heart a new affection found, 

Then knew that love with thee had 
reached its bound. 



CONSTANCY. 

Fancy not, dear, I can ever forget 

Thy smiles in the smiles that surround 
me; 

, My^eyes for a moment must wander, but 
yet 
Must come back to the love that has 
bound me. 




I KNEW BY THE SMOKE THAT 
SO GRACEFULLY CURLED. 

I knew by the smoke that so gracefully 
curled 
Above the green elms, that a cottage 
was near, 
And I said " if there 's peace to be found 
in the world, 
A heart that is humble might hope for 
it here!" 

It was noon, and on the flowers that 
languish'd around 
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee; 
Every leaf was at rest and I heard not a 
sound 
But the woodpecker tapping the hol- 
low beach tree. 

"And here in this lone little wood," I 
exclaim 'd, 
"With a maid who was lovely to soul 
and to eye, 
Who would blush when I prais'd her, and 
weep if I blam'd, 
How blest could I live, and how calm 
could I die! 

"By the shade of yon sumach, whose red 
berry dips 
In the gush of the fountain, how sweet 
to recline, 
And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent 
lips, 
Which had never been sigh'd on by 
any but mine." 



THE TEST OF LOVE. 

Why shouldst thou think my heart is 
changed? 
Why shouldst thou fear I love thee 
not? 
Can truth like mine be e'er estranged, 
Or faith like mine be e'er forgot? 



I mourn thee absent, and when near, 
My rapture none can rank above: 

If this be not to love thee, dear, 
Oh, tell me what it is to love. 




^ 166 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHILST AS FICKLE FORTUNE 


ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT 


SMILED. 


PLAYING NEAR A PRECIPICE. 


Whilst as fickle fortune smiled, 


While on the cliff with calm delight she 


Thou and I were both beguiled. 


kneels, 


Every one that flatters thee 


And the blue vales a thousand joys re- 


Is no friend in misery. 


call, 


Words are easy, like the wind; 


See, to the last, last verge her infant 


Faithful friends are hard to find; 


steals ! 


Every man will be thy friend 


0, fly — yet stir not; speak not, lest it 


Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend. 


fall. — 


But if stores of crowns be scant, 


Far better taught, she lays her bosom 


No man will supply thy want. 


bare, 


If that one be prodigal, 


And the fond boy springs back to nes- 


Bountiful they will him call; 


tle there. 


And with such like flattering, 




" Pity but he were a king." 




If he be addict to vice, 


THE SORROWS OF WERTHER. 


Quickly him they will entice; 


— 


But if fortune once do frown, 


Werther had a love for Charlotte, 


Then farewell his great renown ! 


Such as words could never utter; 


They that fawn'd on him before, 


Would you know how first he met her? 


Use his company no more. 


She was cutting bread and butter. 


He that is thy friend indeed, 




He will help thee in thy need; 


Charlotte was a married lady, 


If thou sorrow, he will weep, 


And a moral man was Werther; 


If thou wake, he cannot sleep. 


And, for all the wealth of Indies, 


Thus, of every grief in heart, 


Would do nothing for to hurt her. 


He with thee doth bear a part. 




These are certain signs to know 


So she sighed, and pined, and ogled, 


Faithful friend, from flattering foe. 


And his passion boil'd and bubbled, 




Till he blew his silly brains out, 




And no more by it was troubled. 


YOU LOVE NO LONGER. 


Charlotte, having seen his body, 




Borne before her on a shutter, 


You love me no longer! the heart that 


Like a well-conducted person 


once listened 


Went on cutting bread and butter. 


In passionate joy to each murmur of 




mine; 
The eyes, the dark eyes, that once ten- 


GAZING. 


derly glistened 





With hope so enraptured and love so 


Gazing on thee, sweet maid, all things I 


divine, 


see — 


Are turned to another. Why dared I 


For thou art all the universe to me. 


believe them? 




Ah! false as the siren that sings in 




the sea! 


QUERY. 


These spells of enchantment,, though 





lightly you weave them, 


Why is a woman like a cold? Because 


Though sport to you, lady, are ruin to 


she is very easily caught, but very diffi- 


me! 


cult to get rid of. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



ONE TO BE WON. 

Friend, would you know fair Cynthia's 

charms? 
She bears no lap-dog in her arms; 
No vulgar pride of show she feels, 
Wears no low dresses, nor high heels, 
Nor corset in the fashion laced, 
To cause deformity of waist. 
Her voice is ever sweet and low; 
She ne'er talks slang nor votes men slow. 
She dances with exceeding grace; 
Ne'er dyes her hair, nor daubs her face. 
Good music she can sing and play, 
Nor practice her six hours a day, 
Can make a fichu, catch a fish, 
Can either wipe or wash a dish; 
Can dine, if need be, off cold mutton, 
Can stew a carp or sew a button; 
Can don her bonnet in a minute; 
Can pass a mirror, nor look in it; 
Can swim and sketch, and row and ride, 
And do a hundred things beside; 
At breakfast she is never late, 
At balls ne'er bids the carriage wait; 
For exercise ne'er fears to walk, 
With scandal's tongue ne'er loves to talk; 
Ne'er simpers, sulks, nor slams the door, 
Nor sighs because her lover 's poor — 
Ah! were I tired of single life, 
I 'd woo sweet Cynthia for a wife. 



TO MY HUSBAND. 

Couldst thou, indeed, as now thou art 

remain, 
Thy strength, thy beauty and thy youth 

retain ; 
Couldst thou forever thus my husband 

prove, 
I might live happy in thy endless love. 



THE GRAVE. 

There is a calm for those who weep, 

A. rest for weary pilgrims found; 
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep 
Low in the ground. 




LINES ON TIGHT DRESSES. 



A boy is a frte and a fetterless thing, 
But a girl is tied up like a bundle of 

string, 
And the reason of this is to keep her 

dress right, 
Which is out of the ouestion unless it is 

x 

tight. 

It must be held back, to keep folds in 

place; 
It is really quite sad, but I'm sure 'tis 

the case; 
The folds would hang down, and look 

very queer, 
If it wasn't for strings out of sight in 

the rear. 

Now a boy walks along so easy and free, 
Can spring o'er a stream, or climb up a 

tree; 
But a girl is so crippled and fettered with 

clothes, 
How to take a long step is more than she 

knows. 

Oh, for a new fashion of making a dress 

That would be free and easy, and grace- 
ful no less, 

That would need no such tying and drap- 
ing as these, 

And allow one to sit, walk or run as she 
please. 



%rf 



WHY TINGE THE CHEEK. 

Why tinge the cheek of youth? the 
snowy neck 
Why load with jewels? Why anoint 
the hair? 
0, lady, scorn these arts, but richly deck 
Thy soul with virtue, thus for love 
prepare. 

So with what vermil tints the apple 

blooms! 

Say, doth the rose the painter's hand 

require? 

Away, then, with cosmetics and perfumes, 

The charms of nature most excite 

desire. 








A BOOK OF POEMS 




PONTIUS AND PONTIA. 

Pontius (who loves, you know, a joke 

Much better than he loves his life) 
Chanc'd t' other morning to provoke 

The patience of a well-bred wife. 
Talking of you, said he, my dear, 

Two of the greatest wits in town, 
One asked if that high furze of hair 

Was bona fide all your own. 
Her own, most certain, t'other said; 
"For Nan, who knows the thing, will 
tell ye 
The* hair was bought, the money paid, 

And the receipt was sign'd Ducailly. 

Pontia (that civil, prudent she, 

Who values wit much less than sense. 
And never dares a repartee, 

But purely in her own defense) 
Reply'd, these friends of yours, my dear, 

Are given extremely much to satire! 
But, pr'ythee, husband, let one bear 

Sometimes less wit, and more good na- 
ture. 
Now I have one unlucky thought, 

That would have spoiled your friend's 
conceit: 
Some hair I have, I'm sure, unbought; 

Pray bring your brother wits to see 't. 



TENDER HEARTS. 

Tender hearts to every passion 
Still their freedom would betray, 

But how calm is inclination, 

When our reason bears the sway! 

Swains themselves, while they pursue us, 

Often teach us to deny. 
While we fly they fondly woo us; 

If we grow too fond, they fly. 



MISERY. 



There's one thing settled with me- 
appreciate heaven well, 



■to 



'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen 
minutes of hell. 




WHEN I WAS A BOY. 

When I was but a boy, 

It was my greatest joy 
To cut up all kinds of boyish pranks. 

For which ma would get mad, „ 

And go and tell my dad, 
For which I never gave her any thanks. 

He would then take down his whip, 
And my clothes he'd make me strip, 
And around the floor with pain he 'd make 
me prance, 
And often have I prayed, 
As upon the floor I laid, 
That I owned a pair of good sheet-iron 
pants. 



I LOVE THEE. 

I love thee, why I cannot tell; 

A thousand nameless winning ways 
Around thee weave their magic spell, 

And make words poor to speak thy 
praise. 

1 love thee, not because thine eyes 

Are matched by Heaven's celestial blue, 

But in thy trustful look there lies 
Th' unspoken promise to be true. 

I love thee, for some subtile charm 
That seems to draw my heart to thine, 

Thy voice and looks my fears disarm 
And tell me thou art only mine. 



I CAN NEVER HOPE. 

Although your esteem I still desire, your 

love and friendship too, 
Yet I can never hope to hold the place 

held by your lovely Lu. 



IT IS NOT BEST. 

There's little use in asking 
A girl to marry you, 

Unless you have a little coin, 
And a home to take her to. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



169 









THE LONGEST DAY WILL HAVE 
AN END. 

The longest day must have an end, 
The nearest friends must part, 

Well, I have done the best I could 
To be your friend at heart. 

Our long, long day has reached its end, 

And we must part — my dearest friend. 

I never can be friend again 
With any as I was with you; 

Nor suffer bravely so much pain, 
Nor to ideals be as true. 

My goblet filled and flowing o'er 

Was broken; 'twill be filled no more. 

It may not be, our long, long day 

Has reached its solemn end, 
If fate decrees that we must part, 

God's will is mine, my friend. 
If man has turned your face from me, 
Then God help you and him — be free! 

But should the shades of night come on, 
And you, worn out and friendless lie, 

Deserted, by the roadside, then 
Be not afraid to call me; I 

Will come to you with friendship's speed, 
And be the friend you still may need. 



MIGNONETTE. 

We met, 'twas in a crowd, and tben we 
parted, 
And the beauty of her face it haunts 
me yet, 
As she told me not her name I cannot 
tell it, 
But I christened her my darling Mig- 
nonette. 



YET ONCE AGAIN. 

List to the strains that I murmured so 
lovely, 
Yet once again by thy side let me be; 
Here, quite alone, let me tell to thee only, 
The love that for years I have cher- 
ished for thee. 




WHEN THE LEAVES COME BACK 
IN SPRING. 

When the leaves come back in spring, 
and the birds begin to sing, 
When the pretty little lambs begin to 
play, 
Meet me down the mossy dell, for I've 
something sweet to tell, 
Must be told while the song bird thrills 
his lay. 
Near the running stream, all in the sun's 
bright gleam, 
When all around but the birds are still; 
I'll be watching for my love, so will 
angels from above, 
Meet me, darling, by that rippling rill. 

Where the flowers blush and bloom, with 
the roses' sweet perfume, 
Where the pretty cherry blossoms fill 
the air, 
While the stream will gently flow where 
the water lilies grow, 
Don't forget, my darling, meet me 
there. 
While zephyrs calmly breathe so softly 
through the trees, 
While the lark is singing in the sky: 
There with violets dipped in dew, and 
with daisies not a few, 
I'll be watching for thy coming by- 
and-by. 



STYLE. 



'T was on one Sunday eve, 
I thought I would relieve 
My busy mind by strolling through the 
park, 
When I met as if by chance, 
And caught a roguish glance, 
Of a charmer who seemed bent upon a 
lark. 

She was resting 'neath a tree, 
When first she looked at me, 

And of course my bounden duty was to 
smile; 
And quick it was returned, 
Oh! how my cheeks they burned, 

For this fair one was the paragon of style. 




Kvo 170 

s 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ALL FOR MONEY. 

What will not most people do, 

All for money? 
Anything, 'twixt 1 and you, 

All for money. 
Friend will turn his back on friend, 
Haughty people have to bend, 
Love some to Old Harry send, 

All for money. 

Pretty girls will love old men, 

All for money; 
Even wed three score and ten 

All for money. 
' Tis but a fool who ever dreams 
That everything is all it seems; 
The world is full of mocking schemes, 

All for money. 



I HAVE A GIRL. 

The girls at me stare when I go any 
where, 
They cry out what a noble looking 
man; 
Just see what grace and style, and what 
a winning smile, 
And always try to catch it if they can. 

Now, I don't mind that at all, I treat 
them one and all 
Alike, and be as civil as I can; 
I have a girl at home, you see, that chats 
and flirts with me, 
And I 'm hoping that some day we 
may be one. 



\rP 



I ONLY JUST WANTED TO KNOW. 

If somebody knows there is something 

That nobody else does n't know, 
Should somebody tell it to some one 

If somebody wanted to know. 
For somebody said that somebody 

Had been saying somebody said so, 
Now do n't think me rude, that I wish to 
intrude, 

For I only just wanted to know. 



LITTLE BELL. 

Piped the blackbird, on the beachwood 

spray, 
" Pretty maid," slow wandering this way, 
" What 's your name?" quoth he, — 
" What's your name? stop, and 

straight unfold, 
Pretty maid with showery curls of 
gold."- 
" Little Bell," said she. 

And the blackbird piped; you never heard 
Half so gay a song from any bird, — 

Full of quips and wiles. 
Now so round and rich, now so soft and 

slow, 
All for love of that sweet face below, 

Dimpled o'er with smiles. 



I DID NOT MEAN TO BE SO BAD. 

" But when Susannah shook her curls, 
And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls 
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll, 
I could n't stand it, sir, at all, 
But up and kissed her on the spot! 
I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not, 
But, somehow, from her looks — boo- 
hoo — 
I thought she kind o' wished me to !" 



I KNOW A LITTLE GIRL. 

I know a little girl, 

The best in all this world, 
Her equal is not living in this land. 

She promised to be mine, 

She 's happiness divine, 
And she said that I could have her heart 
and hand. 



THE MULE. 



Oh, you '11 want a chest-protector on your 
eyebrow, 
And laid upon a ton of ice to cool; 
You '11 be too much broke up to join the 
angels, 
If you ever take the hind shoe from a 
mule. 




V - 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



171 



a 






PROVERB. 

I could no greater sorrow own 
Than live in Paradise alone. 



PLATONIC. 




I had sworn to be a bachelor, she had 

sworn to be a maid, 
For we quite agreed in doubting whether 

matrimony paid; 
Besides, we had our higher loves, — fair 

science ruled my heart, 
And she said her young affections were 

all wound up in art. 

So we laughed at those wise men who say 
that friendship cannot live 

'Twixt man and woman, unless each has 
something more to give; 

We would be friends, and friends as true, 
as e'er were man and man; 

I'd be a second David, and she Miss Jon- 
athan. 

"We scorned all sentimental trash, — 
vows, kisses, tears and sighs; 

High friendship, such as ours, might well 
such childish arts despise; 

We liked each other, that was all, quite 
all there was to say, 

So we just shook hands upon it in a busi- 
ness sort of way. 

We shared our secrets and our joys, to- 
gether hoped and feared, 

With common purpose sought the goal 
that young ambition reared; 

We dreamed together of the days, the 
dream-bright days to come, 

We were strictly confidential, and we 
called each other " chum." 

And many a day we wandered together 

o'er the hills, 
I seeking bugs and butterflies, and she 

the ruined mills 
And rustic bridges, and the like, that 

picture makers prize 
To run in with their waterfalls, and 

groves, and summer skies. 



Yet through it all no whispered word, no 

tell-tale glance or sigh, 
Told aught of warmer sentiment than 

friendly sympathy. 
We talked of love as coolly as we talked 

of nebulae, 
And thought no more of being one than 

we did of being three. 

"Well, good-bye chum!" I took her 

hand, for the time had come to go. 
My going meant our parting, when to 

meet we did not know. 
I had lingered long, and said farewell 

with a very heavy heart; 
For although we were but friends, 'tis 

hard for honest friends to part. 

"Good-bye, old fellow, don't forget your 

friends beyond the sea, 
And some day, when you 've lots of time, 

drop a line or two to me." 
The words came lightly, gayly, but a 

great sob, just behind, 
Welled upward with a story of quite a 

different kind. 

And then she raised her eyes to mine, — 

great liquid eyes of blue, 
Filled to the brim and running o'er, like 

violet cups of dew; 
One long, long glance, and then I did 

what I never did before — 
Perhaps the tears meant friendship, but 

I 'm sure the kiss meant more. 



ON RECEIVING A LOVE LETTER. 

Sweet return of sweet affection, 

Let me kiss thy page again; 
Let me read the dear direction — 

Written by my lover's pen ! 
Dearest words of tender pleasure — 

Some good angel winged your speed, 
Ye have value which no treasure 

But his presence can exceed. 



LOURA. 



In her soft cheek and beauteous eyes, 
What new enchanting beauty rise 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE SHIP. 

Oh, ship, I have ventured in thee, 

Not of spices, fine linen, or wine: 
Thou art freighted with treasures more 

precious to me 
Than the wealth that lies down in the 
depths of the sea, — 
Loving hearts that throbbed close to 
mine. 



TENDER AND TRUE. 

My tastes they are simple, I care not for 

wealth 
So long as I 'm blessed with a good share 

of health. 
I'll tell you my wants, and I think you '11 

agree 
That it takes very little to satisfy me. 
I am not ambitious, and ne'er spent an 

hour 
In piniug for place, or position, or power; 
No envy have I for our rulers above, " 
But I glory in gaining true friendship 

and love. 

'T is no use to worry and flurry I find, 
To gather up hoards that we must leave 

behind. 
Regrets will not alter our station a jot, 
So try to be happy whatever your lot. 
Those days are most pleasant, and so are 

the nights, 
That are passed in the simplest and 

purest delights. 
With friends all around, and the girl you 

admire, 
What else is there left in this world to 

desire. 



I DO N'T LIKE TO SEE. 

I do n't like to see homely ladies powder 

and paint, 
Or an old gray-haired sinner pretend he's 

a saint; 
I do n't like to see ladies wearing false 

hair, 
Or that fellow a hugging my girl over 

there. 




MERT1E GRAY. 

Oh, sweet little Mertie, I 'm thinking of 

you, 
The one that I love so constant and true, 
And in the deep twilight at closing of day 
1 shall think of my darling, my own 

Mertie Gray. 

I' m thinking, yes, thinking of Mertie to- 
night, 

Of her bright golden hair and her teeth 
pearly white; 

I think of her always, by night and by day, 

Of my own little darling, my sweet Mertie 
Gray. 

Oh, often, sweet Mertie, through forests 

of green, 
We 've wandered in love, sweet flowers to 

glean, 
To weave you a garland as fair as the day, 
For my own little darling, my sweet 

Mertie Gray. 

With wreaths of white roses and pretty 

blue eyes, 
There 's naught to compare, and there 's 

none can devise 
A more lovely creature in marble or clay, 
Than my own little darling, my sweet 

Mertie Gray. 

When far from you, Mertie, I 'm lonely 

and sad, 
With none to caress me or make my 

heart glad; 
I sit near the elms by the streamlets all 

day, 
And think of my darling, my sweet 

Mertie Gray. 

I hear the sweet notes that the mocking- 
birds sing, 

And the robins and larks, how they make 
the air ring, 

But still I am lonely while others are gay, 

Till I see my own darling, my sweet 
Mertie Gray. 



LUTES AND HEA.RTS. 

Ah ! lutes and hearts are fragile things, 
And only Love should tune the string: 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I'LL TELL THE TRUTH TO MUCA. 

I'll tell the truth to Muca — and I hope 

he will believe — 
That I thought of him at morning, and 

thought of him at eve; 
That, musing on my lover, when down 

the sun was gone, 
His ear-rings in my hands I held, by the 

fountain all alone; 
And that my mind was o'er the sea, when 

from my hand they fell, 
And that deep his love lies in my heart, 

as they lie in the well. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 

I will not let you say a woman's part 
Must be to give exclusive love alone; 

Dearest, although 1 love you so, my heart 
Answers a thousand charms besides 
your own. 

I love the summer with its ebb and flow 
Of light, and warmth, and music, that 
have nursed 
Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you 
know 
It was in summer that I saw you first. 

I I love the stars, like friends; so many 
nights 
I gazed at them, when you were far 
from me, 
Till I grew blind with tears; . . . those 
far off lights 
Could watch you, whom I long'd in 
vain to see. 

I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise 
Seems like a crown upon my life, — to 
make 
It better worth the giving, and to raise 
Still nearer to your own the heart you 
take. 

I love all those who love you : all who owe 
Comfort to you; and I can find regret 
Even for those poorer hearts who once 
could know, 
And once could love you, and can now 
forget. 




Well, is my heart so narrow, — I, who 
spare 
Love for all these? Do I not even 
hold 
My favorite looks in special tender care, 
And prize them as a miser does his 
gold? 

The poems that you used to read to me 
While summer twilights faded in the 
sky; 
But most of all I think Aurora Leigh 
Because — because — do you remember 
why? 

Will you be jealous? Did you guess 
before 
I loved so many things? — Still you the 
best: — 
Dearest, remember that I love you more, 
Oh, more, a thousand times, than all 
the rest. 



TO A SCHEMING FRIEND. 

Art thou my friend? Forbear to do me 
wrong; 

And lead me not astray with siren song; 

For traitorous friendship wounds a trust- 
ing breast 

With deeper hurts than enmity pro- 
fessed. 



AT SEA IN ABSENCE. 

True as the needle, homeward points my 
heart, 
Through all the horrors of the stormy 
main; 
This the last wish that would with life 
depart, 
To see the smile of her I love again. 



PARTING:. 



We lingered silent by the shore, 

And neither dared to break the spell; 

To part — perhaps to meet no more; 
What lip could utter first, "Farewell." 







174 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




YE SHEPHERDS SO GAY. 

Ye shepherds su gay, who make love to 
ensare 

And cheat with false vows the too cred- 
ulous fair; 

In search of true pleasure, how vainly 
you roam! 

To hold it for life, you must find it at 
home. 



THOUGH MY MANY FAULTS. 

Though my many faults defaced me, 
Could no other arm be found, 

Than the one which once embraced me, 
To inflict a cureless wound ? 

Yet, oh yet thyself deceive not; 

Love may sink by slow decay, 
But by sudden wrench, believe not 

Hearts can thus be torn away: 

Still thine own its life retaineth, — 
Still must .mine, though bleeding, beat; 

And the undying thought which paineth 
Is — that we no more may meet. 



THE KNIGHT AND LADY JANE. 

The Lady Jane was tall and slim, 
The Lady Jane was fair; 

And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of 
limb, 

And his cough was short, and his eyes 
were dim, 

And he wore green specs with a tortoise- 
shell rim, 

And his hat was remarkably broad in the 
brim, 

And she was uncommonly fond of him, — 
And they were a loving pair! 



REMEMBER. 



Pray remember, though box in the plural 

makes boxes, 
The plural of ox should be oxen, not 

oxes. 



ROSY WISH. 

I would speak my kind thoughts by some 

beautiful flower, 
But, alas! it is Autumn — there's none 

in my bower; 
Yet oh, could you know all my heart 

would disclose, 
You would find every wish that it breathes 

you a rose; 
And much better than those which the 

garden adorn: 
'T is with sweetness o'erflowing, and has 

not one thorn. 



0, FRIEND BELOVED. 

0, friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb, — 
Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine; 
My lips will falter, but my poisoned 

heart 
Springs forth to measure its faint pulse 

with thine. 

Thou art to me most like a royal guest, 
Whose travels bring him to some lowly 

roof, 
Where simple rustics spread their festal 

fare 
And, blushing, own it is not good 

enough. 

Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st 

to me, 
From high emprise and noble toil to rest, 
My thoughts are weak and trivial 

matched with thine, 
But the poor mansion offers thee its best. 



WINIFREDA. 

I should die if my husband loved me less, 
For I live at best but a restless life; 

Yet he may, for they say the kindest men 
Grow tired of a sickly wife. 



MAZARKA. 



If thou hadst still continued mine, 
I might perchance have yet been thine 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



175 



NO LONGER, 

My duty is fulfilled to-day, 

No longer will I guard thee from sur- 
prise; 
But, oh, forgive the frieud who from 
thee turns away, 
And to himself for refuge flies. 



SEPARATION. 

I think of thee whene'er the sun is glow- 
ing 

Upon the lake; 
Of thee, when in the crystal fountains 
flowing 

The moonbeams shake. 

I see thee when the wanton wind is busy, 
And dust-clouds rise; 

In the deep night, when o'er the bridge 
so dizzy 

The wand'rer hies. 

I hear thee when the waves, with hollow 
roaring, 

Gush forth their fill; 
Often along the heath I go exploring 

When all is still. 

I am with thee ! Though far thou art and 
darkling, 

Yet art thou near. 
The sun goes down, the stars will soon be 
sparkling — 

Oh, wert thou here. 



THE HAPPY MARRIAGE. 

How blest has my time been, what joys 

have I known, 
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessie 

my own. 



GROWTH. 



From childhood upward we decay, 

grow but greater children every day. 




A HAPPY NEW YEAR. TO 
MOTHER. 

Mother! I wish thee a happy New Year; 

Many a one hast thou given to me; 
Many a blessing and prayer sincere 
All the New Years have heard from 
thee! 
Every New Year since my cradle hours 
You have watched o'er my pathways 
here; 
Strewing them always with softest 
flowers — 
Mother, dear mother, a happy New 
Year. 



THE EXCHANGE. 

The stones in the streamlet I make my 
bright pillow, 

And open my arms to the swift rolling 
billow, 
That lovingly hastens to fall on my 
breast. 

Then fickleness soon bids it onward be 
flowing; 

A second draws nigh, its caress bestow- 
ing,— 
And so by a two-fold enjoyment I 'm 
blest. 

And yet thou art trailing in sorrow and 
sadness 

The moments that life, as it flies, gave 
for gladness, 
Because by thy love thou'rt remem- 
bered no more! 

Oh! call back to mind former days and 
their blisses! 

The lips of the second will give as sweet 
kisses 

• As any the lips of the first gave before. 



SHE. 

She, of roses still the fairest, 
Roses shall around her see; 

Give me but one look, my dearest, 
And I '11 ask no more of thee. 






*J& 




m> 



176 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




BACKBITING. 

When behind a man's back always mind 
what you say, 
If you can 't do him good, do no harm; 
If you do n't like backbiting, do n't do it 
yourself, 
And your good name will spread like a 
charm. 

We've all got to live, so let's try to make 
life 
A broad open field for the race, 
And if you have cause of complaint 
'gainst a man, 
Go tell him right straight to his face. 



THE RIGHT SORT OF A GIRL. 

Just fair enough to be pretty, 
Just gentle enough to be sweet; 

Just saucy enough to be witty, 
Just dainty enough to be neat. 

Just tall enough to be graceful, 
Just slight enough for a fay; 

Just dressy enough to be tasteful, 
Just merry enough to be gay. 

Just tears enough to be tender, 

Just sighs enough to be sad; 
Just soft enough to remember 

Your heart, tho' the cadence may glad. 

Just meek enough for submission, 
Just bold enough to be brave; 

Just pride enough for ambition, 

Just thoughtful enough to be grave. 

A tongue that can talk without harming, 
Just mischief enough to tease; 

Manners pleasant enough to be charm- 
ing, 
That put you at once at your ease. 

Generous enough, and kind-hearted, 

Pure as the angels above, 
Oh, from her may I never be parted, 

For such is the maiden I love. 




CRANK. 

he human crank turns himself. 



I WAITED ANXIOUSLY. 

I waited anxiously, with dread unfeigned — 
I held my breath, my utterance was 
choked — 
My muscles twitched, my every nerve 
was strained — 
With humid tears my handkerchief was 
soaked — 
'Till in a moment agony was eased — 
I quickly turned my head aside — and 
— sneezed. 



BRIGHT EYED LOVE. 

When twilight falls so sof t'and sweet, 

And silent is the hour, 
My charming girl I long to meet, 

Within some leafy bower, 
And whisper sweet tales in her ear, 

And promises so true. 
To me she is the one most dear, 

My little bright-eyed Lou. 

Her voice is full of melody, 

Her lips are rosy red. 
She wears a jaunty little hat 

Upon her darling head; 
A cunning little foot, oh, my! 

The size is number two, 
'T is all these charms that makes me love 

My little bright-eyed Lou. 



COULD A WILD :.W AVE. 

Could a wild wave thy 'glance of pleas- 
ure meet, 

I 'd lay my crown of ^spray-pearls at^thy 
feet; 

Or could a star delight thy heart, I 'd be 

The happiest star that ever look'd on thee! 



FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

"Forgive — forget! I own the wrong!" 
You fondly sighed when last I met you ; 

The task is neither hard nor long — 
I do forgive — I will forget you. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A LOVE-SET. 



cried, 



six games 



to 



"Love-set," she 

111 

none! 

He smiled and seemed no whit dis- 
mayed; 
Defeat like this was naught to one 

AY ho for a sweeter victory played. 
Then leaving all the merry throng 

Of tennis players on the lawn, 
Beneath the trees they lingered long, 

While love, glad love, began to dawn. 
A glance, a pressure of the hand — 

And ere the sky had lost its gold, 
A newer glory filled the land ; 

The old, old tale of love was told, 
And then "Love-set" he whispered low; 

u Love-set" to me this time, my sweet! 
While she but smiled upon her foe, 

Was pleased to welcome her defeat. 



THE LAST WORD. THE MANY. 

Was it not hard that the only time 
I ever had dealt } 7 ou angry speech, 

No pity was by to condone the crime? 
But justice snatched you out of my 
reach, 

To a height where I may not climb. 

my love, with the tender eyes ! 

my sweet, with the silken hair! 
my treasure, my pearl, my prize! 

Will you not look from your height up 
there ? 
You are so tender and wise. 

Will you not look and assure my heart, 
Those angry words that were lightly 
said 
You know were never of me a part, 
But the outside harm of some demon 
bred, 
To leave an eternal smart ? 

Will you not listen and give me heed, 

And soothe my soul to its former calm? 
Will you not answer my crying need, 
And touch my soul with a healing 
balm ? 
Can you not hear me plead? 
12 




Never a single word, they say, 
Harsh or pitiful, meek or proud, 

But lives in the echoes far away; 
Never a voice, nor soft nor loud, 

But is sounding forever and aye. 

Then, alas for the word that was lightly 
said, 
In the passing heat of a moment's 
pride ! 
We cannot recall it, forever fled, 

It will sound in the spaces, undenied, 
The same, since it once hath sped. 

But, 0, my darling! if this be true, 
Somewhere, then, in the limitless space, 

The words of love betwixt me and you 
They are sounding also — have also 
place, 

And the many must drown the few. 



GERALDINE. 



With a bunch of dewy maple, which her 
right hand held above her, 
And which trembled a green shadow in 
betwixt her and the skies; 
As she turn'd her face in going thus, she 
drew me on to love her, 
And to worship the divineness of the 
smile hid in her eyes. 

For her eyes alone smiled constantly ; her 
lips have serious sweetness, 
And her face is calm, the dimple sel- 
dom ripples on her cheek; 
But her deep blue eyes smile constantly, 
as if they in discreetness 
Kept the secret of a happy dream she 
did not care to speak. 



FLORENCE VANE. 

Thou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme; 
Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main, 
Would I had loved thee never 

Florence Vane. 




^ 



78 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(PI 



AMYNTA- 

Alas! 'tis too late at thy fate to repine, 
Poor shepherd, Araynta can never be 
thine. 



CAN YOU FORGET ME? 

Can you forget me? I, who have so 
cherished 
The veriest trifle that was memory's 
link; 
The roses that you gave me, although 
perish'd, 
Were precious in my sight; they made 
me think 
You took them in their scentless beauty 
stooping 
From the warm shelter of the garden 
wall; 
Autumn, while into languid winter droop- 
ing 
Gave its last blossoms, opening but to 
fall. 

Can you forget me? I am not relying 
On plighted vows — alas! I know their 
worth ; 
Man's faith to woman is a trifle, dying 

Upon the very breath that gave it birth; 

But I remember hours of quiet gladness, 

When, if the heart had truth, it spoke 

it then, 

When thoughts would sometimes take a 

tone of sadness, 
And then unconsciously grow glad again. 

Can you forget me ? My whole soul was 
blended: 
At least it sought to blend its self with 
thine; 
My life's whole purpose, winning thee, 
seem'd ended; 
Thou wert my heart's sweet home — 
my spirit's shrine. 
Can you forget me? when the firelight 
burning, 
Flung sudden gleams around the quiet 
room, 
How would thy words, to long-past mo- 
ments turning. 
Trust me with thoughts soft as the 
shadowy gloom! 



There is no truth in love, whate'er its 
seeming, 
And heaven itself could scarcely seem 
more true, 
Sadly have I awaken'd from the dream- 
ing, 
Whose charmed slumber, false one, was 
of you. 
I gave mine inmost being to thy keep- 
ing— 
I had no thought I did not seek to 
share; 
Feelings that hush'd within my soul were 
sleeping, 
Waked into voice to trust them to thy 
care. 

Can you forget me? This is vainly task- 
ing 
The faithless heart where I, alas ! am 
not. 
Too well I know the idleness of asking 

The misery — of why I am forgot? 
The happy hours that I have passed while 
kneeling, 
Half slave, half child, to gaze upon thy 
face. 
But what to thee this passionate appeal- 
ing- 
Let my heart break — it is a common 
case. 



TIME. 



Time wasteth years, and months, and 
hours; 
Time doth consume fame, honor, wit, 
and strength; 

Time kills the greenest herbs and sweet- 
est flowers; 
Time wears out youth and beauty's 
looks at length; 

Time doth convey to ground both foe and 
friend, 

And each thing else but love, which hath 
no end. 



EUPHROSYNE. 

I will not say that thou wast true, 
Yet let me say that thou wast fair! 

And they that lovely face who view, 

They should not ask if truth be there. /« 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A HUMAN HEART. 

A human heart should beat for two, 
Despite the scoffs of single scorners; 

As all the hearths I ever knew 

Have got a pair of chimney corners. 



I HAVE A STORY. 

I have a story, 

Sweet May, if you will hear I shall 

relate: 
A lady, long ago, went to the sea ; 
Fishing, and caught a pretty fish; 
And standing on the water's edge, it 

slipped 
From out her hand and fell into the sea. 
The maid was sad, because it was the first 
Caught on her hook, which, if she lost, 

she lost 
Her fortune. 
But hope cast in her hook again and 

caught 
Again a pretty fish, because the sea 
Was full of such. 

But had her loss 
Been mine, she ne'er had fished again; 

but some 
Have taste so easy suited as to have 
As many chances to be satisfied 
As there are fishes in. the sea; and so 
Misfortune proves their own inconstancy. 

That is a pretty story of the fish, 
But I should have ne'er been its authoress. 
I rather watch the course of yonder 

star 
That ever treads his chosen way, and 

teach 
My heart likewise to do, than try to note 
The countless ways, the waves, these 

fishes move. 



A DITTY. 



My true love hath my heart, and I have 

his, 

By just exchange, one to the other 

given : 

I'hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 

There never was a better bargain driven. 





CUPID'S FIRST DIP. 

Cupid one day amid wild flowers playing, 

Wild flowers — the fittest for him — 
In the bright stream, by whose bank 
he was straying, 
Longing to bathe — but the boy could 
uot swim. 
He ventured his foot in a shallow hard 

by, 

When the nymph of the stream, with a 
sharp mocking cry, 
Said, " Cupid, do n't dabble — be cau- 
tious, or bold, 
Jump in ; or keep out, 
If you dabble, no doubt 
You '11 go home with a cough, 
And the ladies will scoff — 
For the very worst thing is for love to 
take cold." 

Cupid, thus taunted, jump'd in, nothing 
daunted, 
"Well done," said the nymph to the 
boy; 
" Once o'erhead and ears, boy, away with 
your fears — 
The wilder the plunge, oh, the brighter 
the joy! 
To give you this lesson, sweet Cupid, is 

luck. 
With your dear little wings, too, — I'm 

sure you're a duck- — 
But, wild duck, do n't dabble," — the 
nymph said to him, — 
" Once o'er head and ears, 
Away with your fears, 
For love never sinks when determined to 
swim! 



I'LL NEVER FORGET YOU, DEAR. 

They say the men are faithless all, 
And never will prove true, dear, 

But of all in all, both great and small, 
I '11 never forget you, dear. 

For 'tis you that took the height o' 
care 

To keep my memory true, dear, 
My memory's not very good — 

But I '11 never forget you, dear. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 






LOVE AND DEATH. 

0, mischievous medley of love and of 

death! — which is worse — 

(Tis a question perplexing; — ) 

To be too young to die, or be too old to 

love ? — both perverse, 

Are confoundedly vexing. 



THOU FAIR BUT FAITHLESS ONE. 

Well may I rue the day, 

Thou fair, but faithless one, 
I fell beneath thy sway, 

Thou fair, but faithless one; 
You stole my ardent heart 
With love's delusive art, 
And then did from me part, 
Thou cruel, faithless une! 

The flowers you gave I keep, 

Thou fair, but faithless one; 
Thy form still haunts my sleep, 
Thou fair, but faithless one; 
But oh, the dream of night — 
That shadow of delight, 
At morning takes to flight — 

Like thee — thou faithless one! 

Oh! that we ne'er had met, 

Thou fair but faithless one; 
Or that I could forget 

Thy charms, thou faithless one! 
But oh! while life shall last, 
Thy spells around me cast 
Still bind me to the past — 

Thou fair, but faithless one! 



THE BRAVE DESERVE THE 
FAIR. 

To leave thee behind me, my heart is sore 

pain'd; 
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be 

gain'd; 
For beauty and love 's the reward of the 

brave, 
And one should deserve it before he 

should crave. 




WE CHANGE. 

We change, and others change, while 
recollection 
Would fain renew what it can but re- 
call. 
Dark are life's dreams, and weary its 
affection, 
And cold its hopes, and yet I felt them 
all. 

Worn out — the heart seems like a ruin'd 
altar; 
Where are the friends, and where the 
faith of yore ? 
My eyes grow dim with tears, my foot- 
steps falter, 
Thinking of those whom I can love no 
more. 

Thou lovely garden! where the summer 
covers 
The tree with green leaves, and the 
ground with flowers; 
Darkly the past around thy beauty hov- 
ers — 
The past — the grave of our once happy 
hours. 

There are the roses which we used to 
gather 
To bind a young fair brow no longer 
fair; 
Ah! thou art mocking us, thou summer 
weather, 
To be so sunny, with the loved one 
where ? 

It is too sad to gaze upon the seeming 
Of nature's changing loveliness, and 
feel 
That with the sunshine round, the heart 
is dreaming 
Darkly o'er wounds inflicted not to heal. 



WAKE THEE. 

Wake thee! and hearken to me, love, 

If fancy should whisper of ill; 
But if thy dream be of me, love, 
Oh! slumber still. 






^< 



B 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY JULIETTE. 

Go blame the rose's lovely hue, 
Blame the bright sky for being blue, 
Blame time when made of happiest hours, 
Blame perfume shed from sweetest flow'rs. 
And then blame me for being fond 
Of something, all these sweets beyond! — 
Then blame my songs, and I '11 agree 
That they shall all be sung for thee, 
Sweet Juliette. 



ABSENCE. 



What shall I do with all the days and 
hours 
That must be counted ere I see thy 
face? 
How shall I charm the interval that 
lowers 
Between this time and that sweet time 
of grace? 

I '11 tell thee; for thy sake I will lay hold 
Of all good aims, and consecrate to 
thee, 
In worthy deeds, each moment that is 
told; 
"While thou, beloved one! art far from 
me. 



ONCE MORE. 



When in sadness and loneliness come I 

to you, 
To the dear heart that 's always so tender 

and true, 
You will take me, I know, to your side 

as of yore, 
And love, and protect me, and bless me 

once more. 



UNDER THE ROSE. 

If a secret you 'd keep there is one I 

could tell, 
Though I think from my eyes, you might 

guess it as well, 
But as it might ruffle another's repose, 
Like a thorn, let it be; — that is, under 

the rose. 




TO LUCILLE. 

And what was Stella but a haughty dame ? 
Or Geraldine, whom noble Surrey 

sought? 
Or Sacharissa, she who proudly taught 
The courtly Waller statelier verse to 

frame ? 
Or Beatrice, whom Dante deified? 

Or she of whom all .Italy once rung, 
Compared with thee, who art our age's 
pride, 
And the sweet theme of many a poet's 
tongue ? 
There is a nobleness that dwells within, 

■Fairer by far than any outward feature: 
A grace, a wit to gentleness akin, 

That would subdue the most unloving 
creature. 
These beauties rare are thine, most 

matchless maid, 
Compared with which theirs were but 
beauty's shade. 



MARRIED LADIES. 

Married ladies, especially such as are fair, 
Tall and slim, I will now recommend to 

beware, 
How, on losing one spouse, they give way 

to despair; 
But let them reflect, there are fish, and 

no doubt on 't, 
As good in the river as ever came out 

on't. 



THE GOOD WIFE SMILED. 

The night came down, and the good wife 
smiled 
To herself as she softly said: 
'"Tis so sweet to labor for those we 
love, — 
It's not strange that maids will wed!" 



SWEET LADY LOVE. 

Sweet lady love I never brought 
Hither, the least one thieving thought; 
But, taking those rare lips of yours 
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers, 
I thought I might there take a taste 
Where so much syrup ran to waste 




!Fb 



182 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP 



OLD LETTERS. 


LILLA McCANN. 


It seems but yesterday she died, but years 


There 's not in all nature so witching a 


Have passed since then: the wondrous 


creature 


change of time 


For singing, and playing, as Lilla 


Makes great things little — little things 


McCann; 


sublime, 


And the heart that can hear her and not 


And sanctifies the dew of daily tears. 


wish to cheer her, 


She died, as all must die: no trace ap- 


Has no right to beat in the breast of a 


pears 


man. 


In history's page, nor save in my poor 




rhyme, 


When to her I listen, and see her eyes 


Of her whose life was love, whose lovely 


glisten, 


prime 


The longer I listen I still long for 


Passed sadly where no sorrows are, nor 


more; 


fears. 


For if I was lying half senseless and dy- 


It seems but yesterday; to-day I read 


ing, 


A few short letters in her own dear hand, 


And Lilla was singing, I'd cry out, 


And doubted if 't were true. Their ten- 


"Encore!" 


der grace 




Seems radiant with her life. Oh! can 




the dead 


DON'T MARRY HIM, JANE. 


Thus in their letters live? I tied the 





band, 


He looks at you softly and sweetly I 


And kissed her name as though I kissed 


know; 


her face. 


He calls you his darling, his angel be- 




low; 




But oh, in the future he '11 bring you but 


ARTIFICE DISOWNED BY LOVE. 


pain! 





He drinks and he gambles; don't marry 


I cannot think love thrives by artifice, 


him, Jane. 


Or can disguise its mood, and show its 




face. 


Should Hymen once bind you his for- 


I would not hide one portion of my heart, 


tunes to share, 


Where I did give it and did feel 'twas 


Too late comes it, may be, repentance 


right, 


and prayer; 


Nor feign a wish, to mask a wish that 


Take warning, dear maiden, ere warning 


was, 


is vain, 


Howe'er to keep it. For no cause except 


He'll lead your steps downward; don't 


Myself would I be loved. What were it 


marry him, Jane. 


to me, 




My lover valued me the more the more 




He saw me comely in another's eyes, 


QUERY. 


When his alone the vision I would show 





Becoming to? I have sought the reason 


The substance of our query, 


oft 


Simply stated, would be this: 


They paint love as a cbild, and still have 


Is it anybody's business 


thought 


What another's business is? 


It was because true love, like infancy, 


Whether 't is or whether 't is n't, 


Frank, trusting, unobservant of its mood, 


We should really like to know, 


Doth show its wish at once, and means 


For we are certain, if it is n't, 


no more. 


There ai*e some who make it so. 



kP. 



Vi 



» 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




LEFT UNSAID. 

"A happier hour I never spent 

Than that with you when last we met." 

Alas! we're never quite content, 

There 's always something to regret; 

And when we see our loved no more, 

Sadly we count those errors o'er. 

There 's always something left unsaid 
At lovers' meetings brief and rare; 

The dear one's presence seems to shed 
Some strange enchantment in the air; 

And we, to catch those accents low, 
Forget our own heart's overflow. 

Though death and change are ever near, 
We quite forget them for awhile, 

And all love's mistrust and its fear 
Are chased away by one sweet smile; 

For soon the golden hours are sped, 

And still is something left unsaid. 

We part and sigh. "The day is past; 

Unspoken still the words remain." 
Ah, what if we have looked our last, 

Nor see that face on earth again? 
Love's last propitious hour hath flown. 
Such hapless parting some have known. 

And all their life through after years 
Is saddened by this keen regret — 

Had she but known what for my fears 
I would have said when last we met — 

Had she but known, had I foreseen — 

heart, how blest we might have been! 



MAGGIE, DARLING. 

Stars are now shining as bright, Maggie 
darling, 
As when we first met 'neath the old 
hawthorn tree; 
There 'neath its branches I gave you my 
promise, 
I'll keep it, dear Maggie; I'll be true 
to thee. 




REBUKED. 

Once on a summer day, 
Far from the beaten way, 
Some fairy bade me stray — 

Cupid, mayhap. 
Under a leafy tree 
Whom should I chance to see, 
Whom but my Rosalie, 

Taking a nap? 

There in a lovely nook, 
Screened from intruders' look, 
Near her neglected book, 

Slumbering she lay. 
What could a fellow do? 
Tell me, sir, would n't you 
Kneel and take one or two 

Kisses away? 

Ah, but I broke the spell 
Opened her eyes and — well 
Could I do else than tell 

How it was broke? 
Humbly for grace I plead, 
Sternly she shook her head; 
Could not you wait, she said, 

Till 1 awoke? 



MISTER MACANALITT. 

Mister Macanality, without convention- 
ality, 
And with no partiality to either click 
or clan, 
I like your hospitality, and say in all 
reality 
That, Mister Macanality, you're my 
sort of a man. 



THE THROBS OF LOVE. 

The throbs of love, the witching trance, 
The touch of hands, the dreams of 
bliss, 

The whispered vows, the tender glance, 
The trembling clasp, the burning kiss. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



<m 



AN IRISH MELODY. 

Ah, sweet Kitty Neil! rise up from your 
wheel — 
Your neat little foot will be weary from 
spinning; 
Come trip down with me to the sycamore 
tree; 
Half the parish is there, and the dance 
is beginning. 
The sun has gone down, but the full 
harvest moon 
Shines sweetly and cool on the dew 
whitened valley: 
While all the air rings with the soft lov- 
ing things 
Each little bird sings in the green 
shaded alley. 

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up 
the while, 
Her eye in the glass as she bound her 
hair glancing; 
'T is hard to refuse when a young lover 
sues, 
So she could n't but choose to go off to 
the dancing. 
And now on the green, the glad groups 
are seen, 
Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of 
his choosing; 
And Pat, without fail, leads out sweet 
Kitty Neil — 
Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er 
thought of refusing. 

Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his 
knee, 
And with flourish so free sets each 
couple in motion; 
With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter 
the ground — 
The maids move around, just like swans 
on the ocean. 
Cheeks bright as the rose — feet light as 
the doe's — 
Now cozily retiring, now boldly ad- 
vancing; 
Search the world all around, from the sky 
to the ground, 
No snch sight can be found as an Irish 
lass dancing. 



Sweet Kate! who can view your bright 
eyes of deep blue, 
Beaming humidly through their dark 
lashes so mildly — 
Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, 
rounded form — 
Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses 
throb wildly? 
Poor Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, de- 
part, 
Subdued by the smart of such painful 
yet sweet love; 
The sight leaves his eye as he cries with 
a sigh, 
" Dance light, for my heart it lies under 
your feet, love!" 



ACUSHLA. 




Acushla! do not deem me false! 

Nor dream that I forget 
Thy fair young face, thy native grace, 

The morn when first we met. 
My priceless pearl! my glorious girl! 

Thou 'rt true as truth to me, 
And where thou art, there throbs my 
heart 

With love alone for thee. 

Heed not what envenomed tongues may 
say, 

Dread not the world's decree; 
But dry thy tears to fright thy fears, 

And trust, my love, in me. 
My beauty bright! my heart's delight! 

When startled eyes shall see 
June roses blow 'mid winter's snow, 

Then I '11 be false to thee. 



A CONSTANT SWEETHEART. 

My true love is little and brown, but more 
tender 
Than cygnet's soft down or the plum- 
age of doves; 
And her form, like the ivy, is graceful 
and slender, 
Like the eglantine twined round the 
tree that it loves. _ s 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



185 



1 
1 



A SIGH. 

Here's a sigh to those who love me', 
And <i smile to those who hate; 

And, whatever sky 's above me, 
Here 's a heart for every fate. 



THE QUAKER'S MEETING. 

A traveler wended his way along, 

With a purse of gold and a silver tongue; 

His hat it was broad and all drab his 

clothes, 
For he hated high colors — except on 

his nose, 
And he met with a lady, the story goes. 
Heigho! 

Thedamsel, she cast him a beamy blink, 
And the traveler was nothing loth, I 

think, 
Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet 

beneath, 
And the Quaker he grinned — for he'd 

very good teeth. 
And he ask'd: " Art thee going to ride on 

the heath?" 

Heigho! 

" I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said 

the maid, 
"As to ride this heath over I 'm sadly 

afraid; 
For the robbers they say, in numbers 

abound, 
And wouldn't 'for anything ' I should 

be found, 
For — between you and me — I have five 

hundred pound." 
Heigho! 

" If that is thy own, dear," the Quaker he 
said, 

" I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would 
wed; 

And I have another five hundred just 
now, 

In the padding that 's under my saddle- 
bow, 

And I '11 settle all upon thee, I vow !" 
Heigho! 




The maiden she smiled, and her rein she 

drew, 
" Your offer I '11 take — though I '11 not 

take you." 
A pistol she held at the Quaker's head — 
" Now give me your gold — or I '11 give 

you my lead — 
'T is under the saddle 1 think you said." 
Heigho! 

The damsel she ripped up the saddle-bow, 
And the Quaker was never a quaker till 

now, 
And he saw, by the fair one he wished 

for a bride, 
His purse borne away with a swaggering 

stride, 
And the eye that shamm'd tender, now 

only defied. 

Heigho! 

"The spirit doth move me, friend Broad- 
brim," quoth she, 

" To take all this filthy temptation from 
thee, 

For mammon deceiveth — and beauty is 
fleeting, 

Accept from thy maiden a right loving 
greeting, 

For much doth she profit by this quaker 
meeting." 

Heigho ! 

" And hark! jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly, 

Have righteousness more than a wench 
in thine eye; 

Don't go again peeping girls, bonnets be- 
neath, 

Remember the one that you met on the 
heath, — 

Her name's Jimmy Barlow — I tell to 
to your teeth ! " 
Heigho! 

" Friend James," quoth the Quaker "pray . 

listen to me, 
For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye 

see; 
The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my 

friend, 
But my master's — and truly on thee I 

depend 
To make it appear I my trust did defend." 



Heigho ! 



wi 
m 






186 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P\ 



"So fire a few shots through my clothes 

here and there, 
To make it appear 'twas a desp'rate 

affair."— 
So Jim he popp'd first through the skirt 

of his coat, 
And then through his collar quite close 

to his throat: 
"Now one through my hroadbrim," 

quoth Ephraim, " I vote." 
Heigho ! 

"I have but a brace," said bold Jim, "and 
they're spent; 

And I won't load again for a make-believe 
rent."— 

" Then," said Ephraim, producing his pis- 
tols," just give 

My five hundred pounds back — or as 
sure as you live 

I '11 make of your body a riddle or sieve." 
Heigho ! 

Jim Barlow was diddled — and though 

he was game, 
He saw Ephraim's pistols so deadly in 

aim, 
That he gave up the gold, and he took to 

his scrapers, 
And when the whole story got into the 

papers, 
They said that "the thieves were no 

match for the quakers." 
Heigho ! yea thee, and nay thee. 



&f 



MAN'S A FOOL. 

Man is a fool ! 

When it's hot he wants it cool: 
When it's cold he wants it hot — 
Ne'er contented with his lot. 

When it 's dry 

He for showers is heard to sigh: 
When to meet his wish — it rains, 
Of the wet the fool complains. 

Hot or cold, dry or wet, 
Nothing suits that he can get: 
I consider, as a rule, 
Man 's a fool. 



TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. 

You would make hearts your stepping 
stones to power, 

And trample on them in your triumph- 
hour; 

But mine was f orm'd for nobler fate than 
this, 

It knows the treachery of your Judas-kiss. 

I've learned you well — too well; your 
serpent-smile 

Is fond and fair; but cannot "me be- 
guile." 

I 've seen it call'd, and on your soft lip 
worn, 

To win a heart those lips have laugh'd to 
scorn. 

I've seen you welcome, with that fond 

embrace, 
A friend who trusted in your frank bright 

face; 
And while his parting steps the threshold 

press'd, 
His love, his looks, his manners turned to 

jest. 

You triumph in the noble trick you 've 

found, 
Of winning love and trust from all around; 
But, day by day, the flimsy veil grows 

thin, 
And clearer shows the worthless waste 

within. 

Your treachery no longer will beguile, 
I've learn'd you well — too well, your 

serpent-smile. 
So now adieu! no love for you I hold, 
Nor sympathise with any heart so cold. 



COME NOT BACK. 

Ah! come not back, love! even through 
memory's ear 
Thy tone's melodious murmur thrills 
my heart — 
Come not with that fond smile, so frank, 
so dear; 
While yet we may, let us forever part.,/^ 



ft) 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




NATURE. 

Nature permits her various gifts to fall 
On various climes, nor smiles alike on all. 



JAFFAR. 



Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good vizier, 
The poor man's hope, the friend without 

a peer, 
Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust; 
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust 
Of what the good, and e'en the bad, 

might say, 
Ordained that no man living from that 

day 
Should dare to speak his name on pain of 

death. 
All Araby, and Persia held their breath : 

All but the brave Mondur: he, proud to 

show 
How far for love a grateful soul could go, 
And facing death for very scorn and 

grief 
(For his great heart wanted a great 

relief), 
Stood forth in Bagdad daily, in the 

square 
Where once had stood a happy house, 

and there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scimitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar. 

"Bring me this man," the caliph cried; 

the man 
Was brought, was gazed upon. The 

mutes began 
To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave 

cords," cried he; 
" From bonds far worse Jaffar delivered 

me; 
From wants, from shames, from loveless 

household fears; 
Made a man's eyes friends with delicious 

tears; 
Restored me, loved me, put me on a par 
With his great self. How can I pay 

Jaffar?" 



Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this 
The mightiest vengeance could but fall 

amiss, 
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord 

of fate 
Might smile upon another half as great. 
He said: "Let worth grow frenzied if it 

will; 
The caliph's judgment shall be master 

still. 
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take 

this gem, 
The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit!" 
" Gifts!" cried the friend; he took, and 

holding it 
High toward the heavens, as though to 

meet his star, 
Exclaimed: "This, too, I owe to thee, 

Jaffar!" 



A DREAM. 



Methought my love was dead. Oh, 'twas 

a night 

Of dreary weeping and of bitter wo! 

Methought I saw her lovely spirit go 

With lingering looks into yon star so 

bright, 
Which then assumed such a beauteous 
light, 
That all the fires in heaven compared 
with this 
Were scarce perceptible to my weak sight. 

There seem'd henceforth the haven of my 
bliss; 
To that I turned with fervency of soul, 
And pray'd that morn might never break 

again, 
But o'er me that pure planet still remain. 

Alas ! my vows o'er it had no control. 
The lone star set; I woke full glad, I 

deem, 
To find my sorrow but a lover's dream. 



FATE. 



If tho' Fate steal our joys, do not think 

they 're the best, 
The few she has spared may be worth all 

the rest. 




^ 



188 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




AFFECTION. 

There is in life no blessing like affection; 

It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues, 

And bringeth down to earth its native 
heaven. 

It sits beside the cradle patient hours, 

Whose whole contentment is to watch 
and love; 

It bendeth o'er the death-bed, and con- 
ceals 

Its own despair with words of faith and 
hope. 

Life has naught else that may supply its 
place; 

Void is ambition, cold is vanity, 

And wealth an empty glitter without 
love. 



GO, FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. 

Go, feel what I have felt, 
Go, bear what I have borne; 

Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, 
And the cold, proud world's scorn. 

Thus struggle on from year to year, 

Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall; 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall; 
Hope's faded flowers strewed all the way 
That led me up to woman's day. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt; 

Implore, beseech, and pray, 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay; 
Be cast with bitter curse aside, — 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 

Go, stand where I have stood, 
And see the strong man bow; 

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, 
And cold and livid brow; 

Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 

There mirrored his soul's misery. 

y 



Go, hear what I have heard, — 

The sobs of sad despair, 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirred, 

And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been, 
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen. 

Go, to my mother's side, 

And her crushed spirit cheer; 
Thine own deep anguish hide, 

Wipe from her cheek the tear; 
Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 

Whose plighted faith, in early youth, 
Promised eternal love, and truth, 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup, 
And led her down from love and light, 
And chained her there mid want and 

strife, 
That lowly thing, — a drunkard's wife! 
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild, 
That withering blight, — a drunkard's 

child! 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know. 
All that my soul hath felt and known, 

Then look within the wine cup's glow; 
See if its brightness can atone; 

Think if its flavor you would try, 

If all proclaimed, — 't is drink and die. 

Tell me I hate the bowl, — 

Hate is a feeble word: 
I loathe, abhor, my very soul 

By strong disgust is stirred 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of the dark beverage of hell! 



SOPHIA. ONE BLINK OF YOUR 

EYE. 

I rather would see just one blink of your 

eye, 
Than the prettiest star that shines out of 

the sky. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A NICE POINT. 

Say, which enjoys the greater blisses, 
John, who Dormda's picture kisses, 
Or Tom, his friend, the favour' d elf, 
Who kisses fair Dormda's self? 
Faith 'tis not easy to divine, 

While both are thus with raptures 
tainting, 
To which the balance should incline, 

Since Tom and John both kiss a paint- 



iuff. 



THE POINT DECIDED. 



Nay surely John's the happier of the 

twain, 
Because — the picture cannot kiss again. 



OH, MY LOVE HAS AN EYE. 

Oh, my love has an eye of the softest blue, 

Yet it was not that that won me; 
But a little bright drop from her soul was 

there, 
'Tis that that has undone me. 

I might have passed that lovely cheek, 
Nor, perchance, my heart have left me; 

But the sensitive blush that came trem- 
bling there, 
Of my heart it forever bereft me. 

I might have forgotten that red, red lip, — 
Yet how from that thought to sever? — 

But there was a smile from the sunshine 
within, 
And that smile I'll remember forever. 



THE BAD WIFE. 

Savans have decided, that search the globe 

round, 
Only one bad wife in the world can be 

found; 
The worst of it is, as her name is not 

known, 
Not a husband but swears that bad 

wife is his own. 

nP 



LAST HOURS. 

Last hours with parting dear ones, 

(That time the fastest spends) 
Last tears in silence shed, 
Last words, half uttered, 

Last looks of dying friends! 
Who but would fain compress 

A life into a day; 
The last day spent with one 
Who ere the morrow's sun, 

Must leave us, and for aye ? 



I WILL TELL THEE. 

Love? I will tell thee what it is to love! 
It is to build with human thoughts a 
shrine, 
Where hope sits brooding like a beau- 
teous dove; 
Where time seems young — and life a 
thing divine. 

Yes, this is love — the steadfast and the 
true;' 
The immortal glory which hath never 
set; 
The best, the brightest boon the heart 
e'er knew; 
Of all life's sweets, the very sweetest 
yet! 



ONE MORNING, ON THE SEA- 
SHORE. 

One morning, on the sea-shore as I 
strayed, 
My heart dropped in the sand beside 
the sea; 
I asked of yonder mariners, who said 
They saw it in thy bosom, — worn by 
thee. 

And I am come to seek that heart of 
mine, 
For I have none, and thou, alas! hast 

two; 
If this be so, dost know what thou shalt 
do?— 
Still keep my heart, and give me, give 
me thine. 



• U 










190 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






REMEMBER ME. 

When shadows o'er the earth are creep- 
ing, 
And stars peep from the skies; 
When birdlings in their nests are sleep- 
ing, 
And nature "slumbering lies. 
And when the midnight moon is shining 

Across the tranquil sea, 
0, thou for whom my soul is pining, 
Remember me! 



THE BUMBLE-BEE'S SECRET. 

It 's so strange, Kate, you never heard be- 
fore 
When a bumble-bee flies into your door, 

That somebody's coming this way? 
My grandmother always said that there 'd 

be 
Company sure'f or dinner or tea, 
I 've noticed it, too, in my day. 

"Child, get the broom and drive him 

right out, 
And then the somebody may turn about, 

And leave us alone this time. 
I've churning and baking and lots to 

do — 
As busy a day as ever I knew — 

This minute the clock 's striking nine ! " 

Aunt Martha went off to her pan of 

dough, 
While sweet Katie saw the bumble-bee 
go 
Right into the very best room. 
Tom 's coming, I know, if the bumble- 
bee goes, 
Perhaps he'll turn back, nobody knows, 
So she went and put up the broom. 

Down through the lane which was shady 

and green, 
Tom with his horses at noon-time was 
seen — 
He stopped just to water " old White." 
Pretty Katie peeped out, saw Uncle John, 
While the old horse drank, insisting upon 
Tom's staying and taking a bite. 




While the men were "nooning" under 

the trees, 
A.nd good Aunt Martha was turning her 
cheese, 
Kate and Tom were having a chat. 
On the white rose by the window that 

grew, 
Hearing some secrets that nobody knew, 
The bumble-bee quietly sat. 

He '11 never tell, and neither will I, 
There '11 be a wedding — you '11 hear, by 
and by, 

And right in that very best room. 
And Katie's so glad the bumble-bee flew 
That day in the door, and I am, ain't you ? 

How lucky she put up the broom! 



A MEMORY. 



The sweetest flower that ever saw the 
light, 
The smoothest stream that ever wan- 
dered by, 
The fairest star upon the brow of night, 
Joying and sparkling from his sphere 
on high. 
The softest glances of the stockdove's eye, 

The lily pure, the marigold bright, 
The gush of song that flooded all the sky 
From the dear flutterer mounted out of 
sight- 
Are not so pleasure-stirring to the thought, 
Not to the wounded soul so full of 
balm, 
As one frail glimpse, by painful straining 
caught 
Along the past's deep mist-enfolded 
calm 
Of that sweet face, not visibly defined, 
But rising clearly on the inner mind. 



DARLINC LULU. 

There' s many a maiden more brilliant, by 

far, 
With the step of a fawn, and the glance 

of a star: 
But heart there was never more tender 

and true, 
Than beats in the bosom of darling Lulu. JX 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



,,, 



AN ANCHORET. 

That which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet is to me. 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail, 

And innocence my liberty. 
Locks, bars, and solitude; together met 

Makes me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 



THE OLD MAID. 

Why sits she thus in solitude ? Her heart 
Seems melting in her eyes' delicious 
blue; 
And as it heaves, her ripe lips lie apart, 
As if to let its heavy throbbings 
through; 
In her dark eye a depth of softness swells, 
Deeper than that her careless girlhood 
wore; 
And her cheek crimsons with the hue 
that tells 
The rich, fair fruit is ripened to the 
core. 

It is her thirtieth birthday! With a sigh 
Her soul hath turned from youth's lux- 
uriant bowers, 
And her heart taken up the last sweet tie 
That measured out its links of golden 
hours! 
She feels her inmost soul within her stir 
With thoughts too wild and passionate 
to speak; 
Yet her full heart — its own interpre- 
ter — 
Translates itself in silence on her cheek. 

Joy's opening buds ; affection's glowing 
flowers, 
Once lightly sprang within her beam- 
ing track; 
0, life was beautiful in those lost hours! 
And yet she does not wish to wander 
back; 
No! she but loves in loneliness to think 
On pleasures past, though nevermore 
to be; 
Hope links her to the future, — but the 
link 
That binds her to the past is memory. 




THE INVALID. 

Once on a time a certain city lass 

Was seized with symptoms of such sure 

decline, 
Cough, hectic flushes, every evil sign, 
That, as their wont is at such desperate 

pass, 
The doctors gave her over — to an ass. 

Accordingly, the grizzly shade to bilk, 
Each morn the patient quaffed a frothy 

bowl 

Of asinine new milk, 
Robbing a shaggy suckling of a foal, 
Which got proportionably spare and 

skinny; 
Meanwhile the neighbors cried: "Poor 

Mary Ann ! 
She can't get over it! she never can!" 
When, lo! to prove each prophet was a 

ninny, 
The one that died was the poor wet-nurse, 

Jenny. 



A STOLEN KISS. 

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those 
eyes 
Which, waking, kept my boldest 
thoughts in awe; 
And free access unto that sweet lip lies, 
From whence I long the rosy breath to 
draw. 
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should 
steal 
From those melting rubies one poor 
kiss; 
None sees the theft that would the theft 
reveal, 
Nor rob I her of aught what she can 
miss; 
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, 
There would be little sign I would do 
so; 
Why then should I this robbery delay? 
Oh, she may wake, and therewith angry 
grow! 
Well, if she do, I' 11 back restore that 

one, 
And twenty hundred thousand more for 

loan. _ A 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




I AM CURED. 

My dream is o'er, my heart at rest; 
No idle hopes its peace molest; 
Never again will love of mine 
Be cast rejected from thy shrine. 

It is not pride that bids me wear 
A quiet and untroubled air; 
My smiles are no poor tricks of art — 
They speak the sunshine of my heart. 

Farewell! pursue in peace thy way; 
I care not where my feet may stray; 
No idle griefs my peace molest, 
My love is o'er, my heart at rest. 



CONSTANCY. 



They bid me forget him! as if I could 

tear 
From my heart the dear image so long 

cherished there! 
Like a rose in the wilderness, blooming 

and free, 
Like a fount in the desert that love is to 

me! 

I brood o'er my thoughts in the stillness 

of night; 
I cannot forget him — would not, if I 

might! 
'T is the star that illumines my desolate 

way, 
And gives it the glory and brightness of 

day. 



I THINK OF THEE. 

I think of thee when morning springs 

From sleep, with plumage bathed in 
dew, 
And like a young bird lift her wings 

Of gladness on the welkin blue. 
And, when at noon the breath of love 

O'er flower and stream is wandering 
free, 
And when the sweet stars smile above, 

I think of thee — I think of thee. 



THOU ART CHANGED. 

Thou lovest me not as thou loved'st me of 
old, 
Ere I suffered one throb of keen an- 
guish for thee; 
The fire on the shrine of thy heart hath 
grown cold, 
Or, if burning, it burnetii no longer for 
me. 

Thou shouldst not grow weary of one so 
allied 
To thy destiny, dearest, as I am to 
thine; 
Whose love, like the ivy, long planted 
and tried, 
Grows greenest and best on a moulder- 
ing shrine. 



GREEDY. DEAR BETTY. 

Dear Betty, come give me sweet kisses, 

For sweeter no girl ever gave; 
But why, in the midst of our blisses, 

Do you ask me how many I'd have? 
I'm not to be stinted in pleasure; 

Then pry thee, dear Betty, be kind; 
For as I love thee beyond measure, 

To numbers I'll not be confined. 

Count the bees that on Hybla are stray- 
ing, 
Count the flowers that enamel the 
fields, 
Count the flocks that on Tempe are play- 
ing, 
Or the grain that each Sicily yields; 
Count how many stars are in Heaven, 

Go reckon the sands on the shore, 
And when so many kisses you' ve given, 
I still will be asking for more. 



CHOICE. 






Acquaintance I would have, but with 

whom depends, 
Not on a large number, but a choice of 

friends. 









MEDITATION. 



<fci 



n 






1 



94 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




TEMPERANCE ARRAIGNMENT. 

BY COL. R. G. INGERSOLL. 

I am aware there is a prejudice against 
any man engaged in the liquor business. 
I believe from the time it issues from the 
coiled and poisonous worm of the distil- 
lery, until it empties into the hell of 
death, dishonor, and crime, that alcohol 
is demoralizing to everybody that touches 
it, from its source to where it ends.- I 
do not believe anybody can contemplate 
the subject without being prejudiced 
against the crime. All we have to do is 
to think of the wrecks on either side of 
the stream of death, of the suicide, of the 
insanity, of the poverty, pauperism and 
destruction coming from alcohol; of the 
little children tugging at the breast of 
weeping, despairing, starving mothers, 
begging for bread; of the men of genius 
it has wrecked; of the men struggling 
with imaginary serpents produced by this 
devilish thing; and when we think of the 
jails and alms-houses, of the asylums, of 
the prisons, and of the scaffolds on either 
bank, I do not wonder that every thought- 
ful man is prejudiced against the vile stuff 
called alcohol. Intemperance cuts down 
youth in its vigor, manhood in its strength, 
and age in its weakness. It breaks the 
father's heart, bereaves the doting mother, 
extinguishes natural affection, destroys 
conjugal love, blots out filial attachments, 
blights parental hope, and brings prema- 
ture age in sorrow and dishonor to the 
grave. It produces weakness, not strength ; 
sickness, not health; death, not life; 
It makes wives, widows ; children, orphans ; 
fathers, fiends; and all paupers. It feeds 
rheumatism, nurses gout, welcomes epi- 
demics, invites cholera, imports pestilence, 
engenders consumption, and covers the 
land with idleness, misery, crime. It pro- 
duces controversies, fosters quarrels, cher- 
ishes riots. It crowds our penitentiaries, 
and furnishes victims for the scaffold. 
Alcohol is the blood of the gambler, the 
inspiration of the burglar, the stimulus 
of the highwayman, and the support of 
the midnight incendiary. It suggests the 
l_ .lie. and countenances the liar; condones 



the thief, esteems the blasphemer. It 
violates obligations, reverences fraud, 
turns love to hate, scorns virtue and 
innocence. It incites the father to butcher 
his helpless offspring, and the child to 
sharpen the parricidal axe. Alcohol burns 
up men, consumes women, destroys life, 
curses God, and despises heaven. It sub- 
orns witnesses, nurses perfidy, defiles the 
jury-box, and stains the judicial ermine. 
It bribes voters, disqualifies votes, cor- 
rupts elections, pollutes our institutions, 
and endangers the government. It de- 
grades the citizen, debases the legislator, 
dishonors the statesman, and disarms the ' 
patriot. It brings shame, not honor; 
terror, not safety; despair, not hope; 
misery, not happiness; and with the ma- 
levolence of a fiend, calmly surveys 
its frightful desolation; and reveling in 
havoc, it poisons felicity, destroys peace, 
ruins morals, wipes out national honor, 
curses the world, and laughs at the ruin 
it has wrought. It does that and more: 
it murders the soul. It is the sum of all 
villainies, the father of all crimes, the 
mother of all abominations, the devil's 
best friend, and God's worst enemy. 



ALL THROUGH THE GOLDEN 
WEATHER. 

All through the golden weather, 

Until the Autumn fell, 
Our lives went by together 

So wildly and so well. 

But Autumn's wind uncloses 
The heart of all your flow'rs; 

I think as with the roses, 
So hath it been with ours. 

Like some divided river 

Your ways and mine will be — 
To drift apart forever, 

Forever to the sea. 

And yet for one word spoken, 

One whisper of regret, 
The dream had not been broken, 

And love were with us yet. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




PADDY BLAKE'S ECHO. 

In the gap of Duulo 
There 's an echo, or so, 
And some of them echoes is very sur- 
prising; 
You '11 think in a stave 
That I mane to desaive, 
For a ballad 's a thing you expect to find 
lies in. 
But visibly thrue, 
In that hill forninst you 
There 's an echo as plain and safe as the 
bank, too; 
But civilly spake 
" How dye do, Paddy Blake? " 
The echo politely says " Very well, thank 



you 



!" 



One day, Teddy Keogh, 
With Kate Connor did go 
To hear from the echo such wonderful 
talk, sir; 
But the echo, they say, 
Was conthrairy that day, 
Or perhaps Paddy Blake had gone out 
for a walk, sir. 
So Ted says to Kate 
" 'T is hard to be bate 
By that deaf and dumb baste of an echo, 
so lazy; 
But if we both shout 
At each other no doubt 
We '11 make up an echo between us, my 
daisy!" 

" Now, Kitty," says Teddy, 
"To answer, be ready." 
" Oh, very well, thank you," says Kitty, 
then, sir; 
" Would you like to wed, 
Kitty darling," says Ted, 
" Oh, very well, thank you," says Kitty 
again, sir. 
"Dye like me?" say Teddy, 
And Kitty, quite ready, 
Cried "Very well, thank you!" with 
laughter beguiling. 
Now wont you confess 
Teddy could not do less 
Then pay his respects to the lips that 
were smiling. 




Oh, dear Paddy Blake, 
May you never forsake 
Those hills that return us such echoes en- 
dearing; 
And girls, all translate 
The sweet echoes, like Kate, 
No faithfulness doubting, no treachery 
fearing. 
And boys, be you ready, 
Like frolicsome Teddy, 
Be earnest in loving, though given to 
joking; 
And thus, when inclined, 
May all true lovers find 
Sweet echoes to answer from hearts 
they're invoking! 



THE DESERTED WIFE. 

I had a husband once who loved me, now 

He ever wears a frown upon his brow, 

And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip, 

As bees, from laurel flowers, a poison sip; 

But yet I cannot hate. Oh! there were 
hours 

When I could hang forever on his eye, 

And time, who stole with silent swift- 
ness by, 

Strew'd, as he hurried on, his path with 
flowers. 

I loved him then: He loved me, too. My 
heart 

Still finds its fondness kindle if he smile; 

The memory of our loves will ne'er de- 
part; 

And though he often sting me with a 
dart, 

Venom'd and barb'd, and waste upon the 
vile, 

Caresses which his babe and mine should 
share — 

Though he should spurn me, I will calmly 
bear 

His madness; and should sickness come, 
and lay 

Its paralyzing hand upon him, then 

I would, with kindness, all my wrongs 
repay, 

Until the penitent should weep, and say 

How injured and how faithful I had been. 



( 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



WOULD YOU KNOW WHO HAS 
MY VOW? 

Would you know who has my vow, 

She who has my heart in keeping? 
Graceful as the willow-bough 
O'er the streamlet weeping; 
With lips so bright and teeth so white, 
And eyes that shame the stars at night, 
Oh could I tell her beauties bright, 
It would mar your sleeping. 

Could you know who has my vow, 

You would wonder at my daring; 
For, to grace so fair a brow, 

A crown is worth the sharing! 
With step as light as mountain fawn, 
And blush as lovely as the dawn, 
No form by fancy ever drawn, 
With her's can hold comparing! 



'T WAS LOVING THEE TOO WELL. 

Oh, frown not, lady, frown not so, 

On one whose heart is thine; 
Let one kind word before I go, 

Let one kind look be mine! 
An aching heart while e're I live, 

My fault shall deeply tell; 
But oh, — 't was one thou might'st for- 
give — 

'Twas loving thee too well. 

Oh! if that smile had been less sweet, 

That cheek less blooming been; 
Those eyes less bright I used to meet, 

Or were those charms less seen; 
Or if this heart had been too cold 

To feel thy beauty's spell, — 
Thou ne'er hadst call'd thy slave too bold, 

For loving thee too well! 



THE DIAMONDS BLA.ZED. 

The diamonds blazed in her dark hair, 

and bound her polished brow, 
And precious gems were clasped around 

her swan-like neck of snow, 
And Indian looms had lent their store to 

form her sumptuous dress, 
And art with nature joined to grace her 

passing loveliness. 




THE VAIN RESOLUTION. 

In fair Elfrida's chains I once was bound; 
She, proudly with my faithful homage 
bore, 
Then scorned my vows; — but time has 
closed the wound, 
And now, Love, I swear to love no 
more! 

Love in these latter days is lost in art, 
And with the frost of falsehood it is 
hoar; 
It has no charms to fascinate the heart, 
Its better reign is done: — I'll love no 
more! 

Deliua then was plac'd before my eyes, — 

One like the fair ideals known of yore; 

A star she seem'd just fallen from the 

skies. 

But still I swore that I would love no 

more. 

Strange as it seems, I heeded not the wile 
By which I had been led away before, 

Nor even marked Love's bright malicious 
smile, 
As once again 1 swore to love no more ! 

In my lost heart there rises every hour 
A purer flame than that which burned 
of yore; 
Delina, thou hast taught me all Love's 
power; 
To see thee is to love thee evermore. 



THERE IS A BLUSHING BUD. 

There is a blushing bud on the spring- 
tide bough 

That tells of coming fruit — tho' 'tis 
fruitless now. 



THE ROSE. 



It is love's dearest flower and it blooms to 

beguile. 
It was born on the bright cheek of Carrie 

Carlisle. 



g9* 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CANCAO. 

Canst thou forget the silent tears 
Which I have shed for thee, — 
And all the pangs, and douhts and fears, 
Which scattered o'er my bloom of years 
The blights of misery? 

I never close my languid eye, 

Unless to dream of thee; 
My every breath is but the sigh, 
My every sound the broken cry, 
Of lasting misery. 

0, when in boyhood's happier scene 

I pledged my love to thee, 
How very little did I ween 
My recompense should now have been 
So much of misery! 



ANSWER TO CANCAO. 

weep not thus! — we both shall know 

Ere long a happier doom : 
There is a place of rest below, 
Where thou and I shall surely go, 
And sweetly sleep, released from woe, 
Within the tomb. 

My cradle was the couch of care, 
And sorrow rocked me in it: 
Fate seemed her saddest robe to wear, 
On the first day that saw me there, 
And darkly shadowed with despair 
My earliest minute. 

For I was made in joy's despite, 

And meant for misery's slave; 
And all my hours of brief delight 
Fled, like the speedy wings of night, 
Which soon shall wheel their sullen flight 
Across my grave. 



WHEN HEARTS ARE SAD. 

When hearts are sad, the remedy 
n That's always sweetest, is to sigh. 

■vl^cjt^— ~ — 



ROMANCE OF A TADPOLE 



A tadpole sat on a cold gray stone, 

And sadly thought of his life. 
"Alas! must I live all alone," said he, 
" Or shall I espouse me a wife? " 

A wise old frog on the brink of the 
stream 
Leaned over and said with a sigh, 
" Oh, wait till you 're older, my dear 
young friend, 
" You '11 have better taste by and by ! 

"Girls change, you know, and the polly- 
wog slim 

That takes your fancy to-day 
May not be the polly at all you 'd choose 

When the summer has passed away." 

But the tadpole rash thought better he 
knew, 
And married a polly wog fair; 
And before the summer was over he sat 
On the brink of that stream in de- 
spair. 

For, would you believe it ? his fair young 
bride 
Proved to be but a stupid frog, 
With never a trace of the beauty and 
grace 
Of young Miss Pollywog. 

And although the tadpole had grown 

Stout and stupid too. 
He only saw the faults of his wife 

(As others sometimes do). 

To all young tadpoles my moral is this: 

Before you settle in life, 
Be sure you know without any doubt 

What you want in the way of a wife. 



THE PORTRAIT. 

This dear resemblance of thy lovely face, 
'Tis true, is painted with a master's 
care; 
But one far better still my heart can 
trace, 
For love himself engraved thine image 
there. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH. 

" Here, take the world! " cried Jove, from 
his high heaven, 
" To mortals. — Take it, it is^yours, ye 
elves; 
'Tis yours for an eternal heirdom given; 
Share it like brothers 'mongst your- 
selves." 

Then hastened every one himself to suit, 
And busily were stirring old and 
young.— 
The farmer seized upon the harvest fruit; 
The 'squire's horn through the wood- 
land rung. 

The merchant grasped^his] costly ware- 
house loads; 
The abbot chose him noble pipes of 
wine; 
The king closed up the bridges arid the 
roads, 
And said: " The>ntb of all is mine." 

Quite late, long after all had been divided, 
The poet came from distant wandering; 

Alas ! the thing was everywhere decided, — 
Proprietors for everything! 

"Ah, woe is me! shall I alone of all 
Forgotten be? — I, thy most faithful 
son? 
In loud lament he thus began to bawl, 
And threw himself before Jove's 
throne. 

" If in the land of ^dreams thou hast de- 
layed," 
Replied the god, " then quarrel not with 
me; 
Where wast thou when division here 
was made? " 
"I was," the poet said, "with thee; — 

"Mine eyes hung on thy countenance so 
bright, 
Mine ear drank in thy heaven's har- 
mony; 
Forgive the soul, which drunken with thy 
light, 
Forgot that earth had aught for me." 



"What shall I 'do?" said Zeus; "the 
world's all given; 
The harvest, chase, or market, no more 
mine; 
If thou wilt come and live with me in 
heaven,' 
As often as thou coni'st, my home is 
thine." 



CHANCE. 



Rare luck makes not a rule. One day it 

pleased 
The Persian king to place a precious ring 
On a tall staff, and offer it a prize 
To any archer who should hit it there. 
The better marksmen soon assembled 

round : 
They shot with skill, yet no one touched 

the ring. 
A boy, who sat upon the palace roof, 
Let fly his arrow, and it hit the mark. 
On him the monarch then bestowed the 

prize. 
The lad threw bow and arrows on the fire: 
" That all my glory may remain to me, 
This, my first," he said, "my last shall 

be." 



COQUETRY. 



I know I have thy smiles with many, 

Yet still thy smiles are dear to me; 
I know that I, far less than any, 

Call out thy spirit's witchery; 
But yet I cannot help, when nigh thee, 

To seize upon each glance and tone, 
To hoard them in my heart when by thee, 

And count them o'er whene'er alone. 

But why, oh why, on all thus squander 

The treasures one alone can prize, — 
Why let thy looks at random wander, 

Which beam from those deluding eyes? 
Those syren tones, so lightly spoken, 

Cause many a heart, I know, to thrill; 
But mine, and only mine, till broken, 

In every pulse must answer still 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




STEWED OR FRIED. 

Softly the evening star 

Was shining in the west, 
And Luna from her golden car 

Shed gracious peace and rest. 
A maiden, starry-eyed, looked up with 
lashes wet; 

Her lover whispered — stewed or fried? 

She faltered, stewed, you bet! 



I'LL THINK OF THEE. 

I '11 think of thee when morning dawns, 
And throws its brightness o'er yon 
shady grove; 
When dewdrops glisten on the velvet 
lawn, 
And tempt the early riser's feet to 
rove. 

I '11 think of thee as o'er the hills I go 
To cull wild roses and the snowy May; 

An emblem of thine own young heart I 
trow — 
As purely fresh, as innocently gay. 

I '11 think of thee when the bright stars 
shine 
Like costly jewels that are rich and 
rare, 
As if their very brightness could define 
The happiness of those who enter 
there. 

I '11 think of thee when the day of grief 
is thine; 
Should the fierce blasts e'er overwhelm 
thy heart, 
The words of comfort spoken shall be 
mine, 
And gladly of thy care I '11 bear a part. 

I '11 think of thee whene'er thou art 
alone, 
In all thy youthful days, and friends 
are fled ; 
The voice to cheer thy solitude, my own, 
In sickness watch with love around 
thy bed. 




I'll think of thee when life is yielding 
to decay — 
In my last prayer I will remember 
thee; 
Wilt thou, when I'm resting with the 
dead, 
Forget him not, who loved to think of 
thee? 

And if God takes thee first to be with 
Him, 
To swell the company of saints for- 
given, 
And leaves me for a space to war with 
sin, 
I '11 think of thee and come to thee in 
heaven; 



HUITAIN. 



Go, glowing sighs, my soul's expiring 
breath, 
Ye, who alone can tell my cause of 
care; 
If she I love behold unmoved my death, 
Fly up to heaven, and wait my coming 
there. 
But if her eye, as ye believe so fain, 
Deign with some hope our sorrow to 
supply, 
Return to me and bring my soul again, — 
For I no more shall have a wish to die. 



MY MOTHER. 

Yes, thou wilt love me with exceeding 
love, 
And I will tenfold all that love repay, 
Still smiling, though the tender may re- 
prove, 
Still faithful, though the trusted may 
betray. 

No, when on restless nights, dawns cheer- 
less morrow, 
When weary soul and wasting body 
pine; 
Thine am I still, in danger, sickness, sor- 
row, 
In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO MARY. 

" Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed," — 
So fourteen years ago, I said. 
Behold another ring! — "For what? 
To wed thee o'er again?" Why not? 
With that first ring I married youth, 
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth; 
Taste long admired, sense long revered, 
And all my Mary then appeared. 

If she by merit since disclosed, 
Prove twice the woman I supposed, 
I plead that double merit now 
To justify a double vow. 
Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure, 
With ardor as intense, as pure 
As when, amidst the rites divine, 
I took thy troth and plighted mine. ) 

To thee, sweet girl, my second ring, 
A token and a pledge I bring: 
With this I wed, till death us part, 
Thy riper virtues to my heart — 
Those virtues which, before untried, 
The wife lias added to the bride; 
Those virtues whose progressive claim 
Endear wedlock's very name. 

My soul enjoys, my song approves, 
For conscience sake as well as love's. 
And why? They show me every hour 
Honor's high thought, affection's power, 
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sen- 
tence, 
And teach me all things — butrepentence. 



TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 

When fortune smiles and life is fair, 
Seek not the gem of friendship there, 
When true and false are mingling near, 
They both may seem alike sincere; 
But when the storms of sorrow lower, 
And pale distress controls the hour, 
The first dai-k clouds that cross the sky, 
Will but the friends of sunshine fly; 
But one who truly loved before, 
LVWill onlv change to love the more. 

V. 



MY LADY DEARLY LOVES A 
PRETTY BIRD. 

My lady dearly loves a pretty bird, 

That sings and echoes back her gentle 
tone; 
Were I, too, near her never should be 
heard 
A songster's note more pleasant than 
my own; 
Sweeter than sweetest nightingale I 'd 
sing. 
For thee, my lady fair, 
This yoke of love I bear: 
Deign thou to comfort me, and ease my 
sorrowing. 

Were but the troubles of my heart by her 
Regarded, I would triumph in my pain; 
But her proud heart stands firmly, and 
the stir 
Of passionate grief o'ercomes not her 
disdain. 
Yet, yet I do remember how before 
My eyes, she stood and spoke, 
And on her gentle look 
My earnest gaze was fixed: 0, were it so 



once more 



A NUT-BROWN HAIR. 

Pass the butter gently, Mabel, 

Shove it lightly through the air; 
In the corner of the dish, love, 

You will find a nut-brown hair. 
What fond memories it awakens 

Of the days when we were wed, 
When upon my fine coat collar 

Oft was laid your little head; 
Lovingly I stroked those tresses, 

In the happy days gone by; 
Now I strike them every meal time, 

In the butter or the pie. 



LOVE. 



Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death 

must be; 
Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to 

me. 

si 



5EH 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



201 







1 



UP-HILL. 

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end. 
Will the day's journey take the whole 
long day? 

From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 
A roof for when the slow, dark hours 
begin ? 
May not the darkness hide it from my 
face ? 
You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

Those who have gone before? 
Then must I knock, or call when just in 
sight? 
They will not keep you standing at the 
door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? 

Of labor you shall find the sum. 
Will there be beds for me and all who 
seek? 

Yea, beds for all who come. 



TO MY NOSE. 

Fair nose! whose rubies red have cost me 
many a barrel 
Of claret wine and white, 
Who wearest in thy rich and sumptuous 
apparel 
Such red and purple light! 

Great nose! who looks at thee through 
some huge glass at revel, 
More of thy beauty thinks; 
For thou resem blest not the nose of some 
poor devil 
Who only water drinks. 



WHO BREATHES. 

Who breathes must suffer, and * who 

thinks must mourn, 
And he alone is blest that ne'er was 



IcP 



born. 



THREE GIRLS. 

By a clear well, within a little field 
Full of green grass and flowers of every 

hue, 
Sat three young girls, relating (as I 
knew) 
Their loves. And each had twined a 

bough to shield 
Her lovely face; and the green leaves did 
yield 
The golden hair their shadow; while 

the two 
Sweet colors mingled, both blown 
lightly through 
With a soft wind forever stirred and 

stilled. 
After a little while one of them said, 
(I heard her) "Think! if e'er the next 

hour struck, 
Each of our lovers should come here 
to-day, 
Think you that we should fly or feel 
afraid?" 
To whom the other answered, " From 

such luck 
A girl would be a fool to run away." 



YOUNG LAD IES ! — BEWARE. 

Young ladies! — beware of hasty connec- 
tions; 

And don't marry suitors with swarthy 
complexions; . 

For though they may chance to be capital 
fellows, 

Depend you upon it, they 're apt to be 
jealous. 



IF YOU EVER SHOULD MARRY. 

If you ever should marry, remember to 

wed 
A handsome, plump, modest, sweet-spoken, 

well-bred, 
And sensible maiden of twenty, — instead 
Of a widow whose husband is recently 

dead! 



S 



202 



a b;ook of poems 




LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE. 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain, 
And you, my love, as high as heaven 
above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me, your 
humble swain, 
Ascend to Heaven in honor of my love. 
Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
And you, my love, as humble and as 
low 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love 
should go. 

Were you the earth, dear love, and I the 

skies, 
My love should shine on you like to the 

sun, 
And look upon you with ten thousand 

eyes, 
Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the 

world were done. 
Wheresoe'er I am, below or else above 

you, 
Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly 

love you. 



GENEVIEVE. 



She half enclosed|me with her arms, 
She pressed^me|with a fond embrace; 

And bending back her head, looked up, 
And gazed upon my face. 

'T was partly love and partly fear, 
And partly 't was a bashful art, 

That I might rather feel than see, 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calmed her fears and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride. 

And so I won my'Genevieve, 
My bright and beauteous bride. 






CONFUSION OF HEARTS. 

The heart you gave me t' other day 
I' ve neither lent nor changed away; 
But now 'tis so well mix'd with mine, 
I reallyjmow not which is thine. 



CHILD AND MAN. 

The children wandered forth in May 

To cull the lilies blowing; 
But Willie pouted — he would stay, 

So many girls were going! 

And then he cried, with laugh of joy, 
Like voice of falling waters, 

"Mammy, I'm glad you bought a boy; 
Why will some folks buy daughters? 

"I 'm glad I 've not to wear a 'cloud,' 
And such a dress as Anna's; 

She scolds me when I 'm rude and loud, 
And says I've horrid manners!" 

But time brings change as on it whirls, 

And Willie, silly pated, 
Could wish there were a hundred girls 

Where only one 's created ! 

'T is said a bridal 's very near — 

I hear 'tis pretty Anna's; 
She 's not afraid of Will, 't is clear, 

For all his horrid manners! 

This very day the wedding gay 
Will happen, say the knowing; 

And Willie goes to church to-day, 
Because a girl is going! 



THE PORTRAIT. 

This dear resemblance of thy lovely face, 
'Tis true, is painted with a master's 
care; 
But one far better still my heart can 
trace, 
For Love himself engraved the image 
there. 

Thy gift can make my soul blest visions 
share; 
But brighter still, dear love, my joys 
would shine, 
Were I within thy heart impressed as 
fair, 
As true, as vividly, as thou in mine! 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



203 



3 



THE LATE ROSE. 

Seek not for me where lingers late 

The summer's rose; 
Its queenly pride would never deign to 
wait 

For winter's snows. 

The hand that might have pluck'd the 
flower 

Is still the same; 
The heart that wished it hers still feels 
the power 

It cannot name. 

Another summer will, I know, return, 

But not for me; 
A fairer rose, in blush, as warmly burn 

Upon the tree. 

Another hand, more fortunate than mine, 

The gift may bear, 
And win what fate compels me to re- 
sign, 

Life's best hope there. 

Ah, never! for the hope still lives, 

Crush'd though it be; 
And still in dreams thy spirit comes and 
gives 

Comfort to me. 



Lo 



THE PATH WE LOVED. 

The path we loved is green with leaf 

And fresh with fleeting rain; 
Oh, heart, my heart, forget thy grief 

And blossom once again! 
It may not be — the hopes of yore 

Have died of weariness; 
love, if you could love me more. 

Or I could love tbee less! 

The sunny sky forgets the gloom — 

The gloom of winter drear; 
The budding rose forgets the bloom - 

The bloom that died last year. 
Can I forget the vows we swore — 

The words of tenderness? 
love, if you had loved me more, 

Or I could love you less. 



I CAN NE'ER FORGET THEE. 

It is the chime; the hour draws near 

When you and I must sever; 
Alas, it must be many a year, 

And it may be forever. 
How long till we shall meet again; 

How short since first I met thee; 
How brief the bliss — how long the 
pain — 

For I can ne'er forget thee. 

You said my heart was cold and stern; 

You doubted love when strongest; 
In future years you' 11 live to learn 

Proud hearts can love the longest. 
Oh! sometimes think when press'd to 
hear, 

When flippant tongues beset thee, 
That all must love thee when thou 'rt 
near; 

But one will ne'er forget thee. 

The changeful sand doth only know 

The shallow tide and latest; 
The rocks have marked its highest flow, 

The deepest and the greatest; 
And deeper still the flood-marks grow: — 

So since the hour I met thee, 
The more the tide of time doth flow, 

The less can I forget thee! 



AMANDA. 



Where sun and flower are beaming 

Amanda's charms appear; 
Her beauty's rays are streaming 

Round all this earthly sphere: 
The breeze, when gently blowing, — 

The rose that scents the grove, — 
The vine, when brightly glowing, — 

All tell of her I love. 

But I must vainly languish 

For joys I ne'er I can know, 
And wear a cureless anguish 

In loneliness and woe! 
Fair goddess ! I shall ever 

Behold thy beauty shine 
Like stars above, — but never 

Can hope to call thee mine! 




<sR> 



204 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




FOLLOW A SHADOW. 

Follow a shadow, it still flies you; 

Seem to fly it, it will pursue: 
So court a mistress; she denies you 
Let her alone, she will court you. 
Say, are not women truly, then, 
Styled but the shadows of us men? 



A SUNNIT TO THE BIG OX. 

All hale! thou mighty annimil — all hale! 
You are 4 thousand pounds, and am 

perty wel 
Perporshund, thou tremenjos boveen nug- 

git! 
I wonder how big you was wen you 
Wos little, and if your mother wud no 

you now 
That you've grone so long, and thick and 

phat; 
Or if your father wud rekognize his off- 
spring 
And his kaff; thou elefanteen quodrupid! 
I wonder if it hurts you much to be so 

hig, 
And if you grode it in a month or so. 
I spose when you was young tha did n't 

gin 
You skim milk, but all the kreme you 

kud stuff 
Into your little stummik, jest to see 
How big yude grow; and afterwards tha 

no doubt 
Fed you on otes and ha and sich like, 
With perhaps an occasional punkin or 

squosh; 
In all probability yu dont no yore enny 
Bigger than a small kaff; for if you did, 
Yude brake down fences and switch yure 

tale 
And rush around, and hook, and beller, 
And run over fowkes, thou orful beast! 
Oh! what a lot of mince pize yude make, 
And sassengers! and yure tale, — 
Which kant wa far from phorty pounds, — 
Wud maik nigh unto a barrel of ox-tale 

soop; 
And cud n't a heap uv staix be cut off ov 

jo, 

Which with salt and pepper and termatur 
Ketchup, wouldn't be bad to taik. 



Thou great and glorious inseckt! 

But I must close, most prodidjus rep- 
tile! 

And fur my admirashun of yu, wen yu di, 

He rite a node unto your peddy and re- 
manes, 

Pernouncin' you the largest of yure race; 

And as I don't expect to have half a 
dollar 

Agin to spare for tu pa tu look at yu, 
and as 

I aint a ded beet, I will say farewell. 



WHEN THE SUN SINKS TO REST. 

When the sun sinks to rest, 
And the star of the west 

Sheds its soft silver light o'er the sea, 
What sweet thoughts arise, 
As the dim twilight dies — 

For then I am thinking of thee! 
Oh! then crowding fast 
Come the joys of the past 

Through the dimness of days long gone 

by, 

Like the star peeping out, 
Through the darkness about, 

From the soft silent depths of the sky. 

And thus, as the night 
Grows more lovely and bright, 

With the clust'ring of planet and star, 
So this darkness of mine 
Wins a radiance divine 

From the light that still lingers afar. 
Then welcome the night, 
With its soft, holy light! 

In its silence my heart is more free 
The rude world to forget, 
Where no pleasure 1 've met 

Since the hour that I parted from thee. 



WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. 

I loved thee once, I '11 love thee no more. 

Thine be the grief as is the blame; 
Thou art not what thou wast before, 
What reason I should be the same? 
He that can love, unloved again, 
Hath better store of love than braiii. < 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




I WILL NOT SAY I'D GIVE THE 
WORLD. 

I will not say I 'd give the woidd 

To win your charms divine; 
| I will not say I 'd give the world — 

The world it is not mine. 
The vow that's made my love to win 

In simple truth shall be; 
My heart is all I have to give, 

And give that all to thee. 



AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY. 

I dreamed a dream in the midst of my 

slumbers, 
And as fast as I dreamed it, it came into 

numbers; 
My thoughts ran along in such beautiful 

metre, 
I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter: 
It seemed that a law had been recently 

made, 
That a tax on old bachelors' pates should 

be laid; 
And in order to make them all willing to 

marry, 
The tax was as large as a man could well 

carry. 
The bachelors grumbled, and said 'twas 

no use — 
'Twas horrid injustice, and horrid abuse, 
And declared that to save their own 

hearts' blood from spilling, 
Of such a vile tax they would not pay a 

shilling. 
But the rulers determined them still to 

pursue, 
So they set all old bachelors up at vendue: 
A crier was sent through the town to and 

fro, 
To rattle his bell and his trumpet to blow, 
And to call out to all he might meet in 

his way, 
"Ho! forty old bachelors sold here to- 

day;" 
And presently all the old maids in the 

town, 
Each in her very best bonnet and gown, 
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and 

pale, 
Of every description, all flocked to the 

sale. 



The auctioneer then in his labor began, 
And called out aloud, as he held up a man, 
"How much for a bachelor? who wants 

to buy?" 
In a twink, every maiden responded, 

"I— I." 
In short, at a highly extravagant price, 
The bachelors all were sold off in a trice: 
And forty old maidens, some younger, 

some older, 
Each lugged an old bachelor home on her 

shoulder. 



LOFTY FAITH. 

I stood upon the ocean's briny shore, 
And with a fragile reed I wrote 
Upon the sand — 

"Agnes, I love thee!" 
The mad waves rolled by and blotted ^out 
The fair impression. 

Frail reed! cruel wave! treacherous sand! 
I'll trust ye no more; 
But with giant hand I '11 pluck 
From Norway's frozen shore 
Her tallest pine, and dip its top 
Into the crater of Vesuvius, 
And upon the high and burnished heavens 
I '11 write — 

"Agnes, I love thee!" — 
And I would like to see any 
Dog-goned wave wash that out. 



COURTING. 



Some love to wander down by] the 
meadows, 
And gaze at the sun that is shining 
above; 
But I prefer in the cool of the evening, 
To quietly stroll with the girl that I 
love. 

Oh, how delightful! imagine the feeling, 

When the moon sheds her sweet light 

from above, 

Your soul full of rapture, soon your "arm 

stealing 

Just round the waist of the girl that 

you love. 



Sng 



206 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO HIS COY LOVE. 

I pray thee, love, love me no more, 

Call home the heart you gave me; 
I hut in vain that saint adore, 

That can but will not save me: 
These poor half kisses kill me quite; 

Was ever man thus served? 
Amidst an ocean of delight, 

For pleasure to be starved. 

Show me no more those snowy breasts, 

With azure rivers branched, 
Where whilst my eye witb plenty feasts, 

Yet is my thirst not stanched. 
Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell, 

By me thou art prevented; 
'T is nothing to be plagued in hell, 

But thus in heaven tormented. 

Clasp me no more in those dear arms, 

Nor thy life's comfort call me; 
0, these are but too powerful charms, 

And do but more enthral me. 
But see how patient I am grown, 

In all this coyle about thee; 
Come, nice thing, let tbis heart alone, 

I cannot live without thee. 



NOT ALWAYS WHAT THEY SEEM. 

Only the leaf of a rosebud 

That fell to the ballroom floor — 

Fell from the tinted clusters 
Of the big bouquet she wore. 

Quickly he stooped and seized it; 
" 'T is the leaf of a rose," said he, 
" Tinted with summer blushes, 
And dearer than gold to me." 

" Lovely and fragrant petal, 

Some sweet summer night, — who 
knows? — 
I may have a chance to tell her 

I treasured the leaf of that rose." 

But when to his lips be pressed it 
He muttered an accent wroth; 

" The blamed thing is artificial, 
And made out of cotton cloth!" 



BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 

A young lady said to her beau, 
I 'm glad the snow 's coming down so, 
Because now I know, 
We '11 a sleigb-riding go, 
So hail! to the beautiful snow. 

The youth shook his head and he sighed; 
" I 'm sorry," he sadly replied, 
" I can 't hire a sleigh, 
For I 'm dead broke to-day, 
And the pleasure to us is denied. 



THE MAIDEN. 

There was a blushing maiden, 

That had for many a day 
Become resigned to singleness, 

Though some folks they did say 
She resorted to cosmetics — 

To paint and powder still; 
But women will be women, 

Right well we know they will. 



YE MUSES. 



Ye muses pay your homage here, yet,*0 

beware, 
And draw the artful scene with glorious 

care; 
For foolish praise is satire on the fair. 



PERCHANCE. 



Perchance, if we had never met, 
I had been spared this vain regret; 

And yet I could not bear the pain 
Of never seeing thee again. 



DANGER. 



There 's danger in the lion's wrath, 
Destruction in the tiger's jaw; 

But worse than death to cross the path 
Of man, when passion is his law. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



207 







THE STEADFAST SWAIN. 

Hence away, thou siren; leave me. 

Pish! unclasp those wanton arms; 
Sugar'd words shall ne'er deceive me — 

Though thou prove a thousand charms. 
Fie, fie, forbear, no common snare 

Can ever my affections chain. 
Your painted baits and poor deceits, 

Are all bestowed on me in vain. 

I 'm no slave to such as you be; 

Neither shall a snowy breast, 
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby, 

Ever rob me of my rest. 
Go, go, display your beauty's ray 

Tu some o'er-soon enamored swain: 
Those common wiles of sighs and smiles, 

Are all bestowed on me in vain. 

I have elsewhere vow'd my duty; 

Turn away^your tempting eyes; 
Show not me a naked beauty; 

Those impostures I despise: 
"Yet 1 would not deign embraces 

With the fairest queens that be, 
If another shared those graces 

Which they had bestowed on me. 

I do scorn to vow a duty, 

Where each lustful lad may woo: 
Give me her whose sunlike beauty 

Buzzards dare not soar unto; 
Whate'er betide, she '11 ne'er divide 

The favor she to one doth deign; 
But your fond love will fickle prove, 

And all that trust in you are vain. 

Leave me then, thou siren, leave me, 

Take away those charmed arms; 
Crafty wiles cannot deceive me, 

I am proof 'gainst women's charms. 
You labor may, to lead astray 

The heart that constant mayst remain, 
And I the while, will sit and smile, 

To see you spend your time in vain. 



TO MY SON FRANK. 

What I may leave thee none can tell, 
But all can say, I wish thee well. 



TO A FORSAKEN MISTRESS. 

I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 
And I might have gone near to love 
thee, 
Had I not found the lightest prayer 
That lips could speak had power to 
move thee: 
But I can let thee now alone, 
As worthy to be loved by none. 

I do confess thou 'rt sweet; yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 

Thy favors are but like the wind, 
That kisses everything it meets; 

And since thou canst with more than one, 

Thou 'rt worthy to be kissed by none. 

The morning rose that untouched stands 
Arm'd with her briers, how sweetly 
smells! 
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder 
hands, 
No more her sweetness with her dwells; 
But scent and beauty both are gone, 
And leaves fall from her one by one. 

Such fate e're long will thee betide, 
When thou hast handled been awhile, — 

Like seer flowers to be thrown aside: 
And I will sigh while some will smile, 

To see thy love for more than one 

Has brought thee to be loved by none. 



LIVE IN MY HEART. 

When the cabin is burned — and all is 

spent, 
Come live in my heart and pay no rent. 



LAUGHTER. 



Laugh merrily while life is here, 
For death cuts short all laughter; 

Laugh all thy life, and let the tear 
Come, if it will, hereafter. 



EVER TRUE. 

So may my soul be ever true to thine, 
As with thy body thou didst worship 
mine. 






208 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP% 



WHAT WILL YOU DO? 

"What will you do, love, when I am go- 
ing 
With white sail flowing, - 

The seas beyond ? — 
What will you do, love, when waves di- 
vide us 
And friends may chide us 

For being fond?" 

" Tho' waves divide us — and friends be 

chiding, 
In faith abiding 

I'll still be true! 
And I'll pray for thee on the stormy 

ocean, 
In deep devotion — 

That's what I'll do!" 

" What would you do, love, if distant 

tidings 
Thy fond confidings 

Should undermine? — 
And I, abiding 'neath sultry skies, 
Should think other eyes 

Were as brightjjas'g thine ? " 

"Oh! name it not! — Tho' guilt and 

shame 
Were on thy name 

I 'd still be true: 
But that heart of thine — should another 

share it — 
I could not bear it ! 

What would I do?" 

" What would you do, love, when home 

returning 
With hopes high burning, 

With wealth for you, 
If my bark which bounded o'er foreign 

foam 
Should be lost near home — 

Ah! what would you do? " 

" So thou wert spared — I 'd bless the 

morrow, 
In want and sorrow, 

That left me you; 
And I 'd welcome thee from the wasting 

billow, 
This heart thy pillow — 

That'swhatl'ddo!" 




OH! LOVELY EYES. 

Oh! lovely eyes, whose gentle radiance, 
glowing 
With speechless meaning, beareth 
more to me 
On the pure stream from out the soul- 
spring flowing, 
Than language breathed by voice of 
melody: 
For words are cold to tell the full heart's 
meaning, 
To sound the deep where love in se- 
cret lies — 
In guarded words there may be timid 
feigning, 
But no deceit can lurk in those sweet 
eyes! 

Oh! lovely eyes; whose truth, with lustre 
blending, 
Shines — like the north star o'er the 
wintry sea, 
Some lonely bark in midnight course be- 
friending — 
Oh ! lovely eyes, beam gently thus on 
me. 
How blest my course with such bright 
eyes to guide me, 
Who 'd ask for words when love's own 
light replies? 
Were love not there your glances had de- 
nied me, 
For no deceit can lurk in those sweet 
eyes! 



WEDLOCK. 



Wedlock's a very awful thing; 

'T is something like that feat in the ring, 

Which requires great nerve to go 
through it. — 
When one of a great equestrian troupe, 
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop, 
Not knowing at all, what may befall, 

After his getting through it. 



HAPPY. 



Most happy she that most assur'd doth 

rest, 
But he most happy who such one loves 

best. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE ROSEBUSH. 

A rosebush stands the window 'neath, 

Of roses red 'tis full, 
And daily comes the spring's warm breath, 

The rosebush to cajole. 

He whispered many a love-word sweet; 

("Who may their import guess?) 
The flowers he evermore doth great 

And kiss with soft caress. 

Learn thou the lesson, lovely one, 

Thy roses' pupil be, 
And let me like the spring wind come 

And boldly talk with thee. 

I know of songs more sweet by far 
Than those the zephyr knew. 

My greetings gentler, darling, are 
My kisses softer, too. 



THREE LOVES. 

I have known various loves of women. 
One 
Gave all her soul, she said, but kept in- 
tact 
Her marble lips, and ever seemed to shun 
Love's blandishments, as if his slightest 
act 
Were fatal to his life. Another gave 
All luxury of love that woman's art 
Could lend in aid of beauty's kisses — 
save 
What she, alas! had not — a loving 
heart. 
Poor, dear, dead flowers! One with no 
root in earth; 
And one no breath of heaven's sustain- 
ing air; 
No marvel briefly they survived their 
birth; 
And then my true love came (0, won- 
drous fair 
Beyond the twain!), whose soul and 
sense unite 
In perfect bloom for love's supreme de- 
light. 
14 

if 

— 



SONG OF THE PEASANT WIFE. 

Come, Patrick, clear up the storms on 

your brow; 
You were kind to me once — will you 

frown on me now ? 
Shall the storm settle here when from 

heav'n it departs, 
And the cold from without find its way 

to our hearts? 
No, Patrick, no! sure the wintriest 

weather 
Is easily borne when we bear it together. 

Though the rain 's dropping through 

from the roof to the floor, 
And the wind whistles free where there 

once was a door, 
Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm 

wash away 
All the warm vows we made in our love's 

early day? 
No, Patrick, no! sure the dark, stormy 

weather 
Is easily borne, if we bear it together. 

When you stole out to woo me when 
labor was done, 

And the day that was closing to us 
seemed begun, 

Did we care if the sunset was bright on 
the flowers, 

Or if we crept out amid darkness and 
showers ? 

No, Patrick, no ! we talked while we 
braved the wild weather, 

Of all we could bear, if we bore it to- 
gether. 

Soon, soon will these dark, dreary days 

be gone by, 
And our hearts be lit up with a beam 

from the sky! 

0, let not our spirits, embittered with 
pain, 

Be dead to the sunshine that came to us 
then! 

Heart in heart, hand in hand, let us wel- 
come the weather, 

And sunshine or storm, let us bear it to- 
gether. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 







THE MIRACLE OF THE ROSES. 

There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid, 
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair 
That all Judea spake the virgin's praise. 
He who had seen her eye's dark radiance, 
How it revealed her soul, and what a soul 
Beamed in the mild effulgence, woe to 

him! 
For not in solitude, for not in crowds, 
Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid 
Her imaged form which followed every- 
where, 
And filled the heart, and fixed the absent 

eye. 
Alas for him! her bosom owned no love 
Save the strong ardor of religious zeal; 
For Zillah upon heaven had centered all 
Her spirit's deep affections. So for her 
Her tribe's men sighed in vain, yet rever- 
enced 
The obdurate virtue that destroyed their 

hopes. 
One man there was, a vain and wretched 

man, 
Who saw, desir'd, despair'd, and hated her; 
His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek 
E'en till the flush of angry modesty 
Gave it new charms and made him gloat 

the more. 
She loathed the man, for Hamuel's eye 

was bold, 
And the strong workings of brute selfish- 

ishness 
Had moul'ded his broad features; and she 

feared 
The bitterness of wounded vanity 
That with a fiendish hue would overcast 
His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her 

fear, 
For Hamuel vowed revenge, and laid a 

plot 
Against her virgin fame. He spread 

abroad 
Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports 
That soon obtain belief; how Zillah's eye, 
When in the temple heavenward it was 

raised, 
Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there 

were those 
Who had beheld the enthusiast's melting 

glance 



O 



With other feelings filled: — that 'twas a 

task 
Of easy sort to play the saint by day 
Before the public eye, but that all eyes 

were 
Closed at night: — that Zillah's life was 

foul, 
Yea, forfeit to the law. Shame — shame 

to man, 
That he should trust so easily the tongue 
Which stabs another's fame! The ill 

report 
Was beard, repeated, and believed, — and 

soon, 
For Hamuel, by his well schemed villainy 
Produced such semblance of guilt, — the 

maid 
Was $o the fire condemned! 

Without the walls 
There was a barren field; a place abhorred, 
For it was there where wretched criminals 
Received their death! and there they 

fixed the stake, 
And piled the fuel round, which should 
t consume 

The injured maid, abandoned, as it seemed, 
By God and man. The assembled Beth- 

lehemites 
Beheld the scene, and when they saw the 

maid 
Bound to the stake, with what calm holi- 
ness 
She lifted up her patient looks to heaven, 
They doubted of her guilt. With other 

thoughts 
Stood Hamuel near the pile; him savage 

joy 
Led thitherward, but now within his 

heart 
Unwonted feelings stirred, and the first 

pangs 
Of wakening guilt, anticipant of hell! 
The eye of Zillah as it glanced around 
Fell on the slanderer once, and rested 

there 
A moment; like a dagger did it pierce, 
And struck into his soul a cureless wound. 
Conscience, thou God within us! not 

in the hour 
Of triumph dost thou spare the guilty 

wretch , 
Not ui the hour of infamv and death 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Forsake the virtuous! — They draw near 
the stake — 

They bring the torch! — hold, hold your 
erring hands! 

Yet quench the rising flames! — they rise, 
they spread! 

They reach the suffering maid! God, 
protect 

The innocent one! 

They rose, they spread, they raged; — 

The breath of God went forth ; the ascend- 
ing fire 

Beneath its influence bent, and all its 
flames, 

In one long lightning flash concentrating, 

Darted and blasted Hamuel! him alone! 

Hark! what a fearful scream the multi- 
tude 

Pour forth! — and yet more miracles! the 
stake 

Branches and buds, and spreading its 
green leaves, 

Embowers and canopies the innocent 
maid 

Who there stands glorified; and roses, 
then 

First seen on earth since paradise was lost, 

Profusely bloom round her, white and red 

In all their rich variety of hues; 

And fragrance such as our first parents 
breathed 

In Eden, she inhales, vouchsafed to her 

A presage sure of Paradise regained. 



PROVERBIAL. 

He who laughs at crooked men should 

need walk very straight; 
0, he who once has won a name may lie 

abed till eight. 
Make haste to purchase house and land; 

be very slow to wed; 
True coral needs no painter's brush, nor 

need be daubed with red. 
Let no man halloo he is safe till he is 

through the wood; 
He who will not when he may, must 

tarry when he should. 
The fool that eats till he is sick must fast 

till he is well; 
The wooer that can flatter most will bear 

away the belle. 



THE FLY. 

Only one thing I warn you not to try — 
Oft for that one I 've wished to be a fly ! — 
Come not too near, Carissima, nor dare 
To kiss her eye lids or carress her hair. 
But if you must come near her, pray, 

good fly, 
Tell her how much I love her. Then — 

Good bye! 



PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 

Voyager upon life's sea, to yourself be 
true, 

And where'er your lot may be, paddle 
your own canoe; 

Leave to heaven, in humble trust, all you 
will to do; 

But if you would succeed, you must pad- 
dle your own canoe. 



SONNET. 



Love in a humor played the prodigal, 

And bade my senses to a solemn feast; 
Yet more to grace the company withal, 
Invites my heart to be the chiefest 
guest: 
No other drink would serve this glutton's 
turn 
But precious tears distilling from mine 
eyes, 
With which my sighs this epicure doth 
burn, 
Quaffing carouses in this costly wine; 
When, in his cups o'ercome with foul 
excess, 
Straightway he plays a swaggering 
ruffian's part; 
And at the banquet in his drunkenness, 
Slew his dear friend, my kind and 
truest heart; 
A gentle warning, friends, thus may you 

see, 
What 't is to keep a drunkard company. 



TELL ME. 



You've told me when, now tell me where, 
Am I to meet with you, my fair? 



c\ 




212 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A COQUETTE PUNISHED. 

Ellen was fair, and knew it too, 
As other village beauties do 

Whose mirrors never lie; 
Secure of any swain she chose, 
She smiled on half a dozen beaux, 
And, reckless of a lover's woes, 
She cheated these, and taunted those, 
" For how could any one suppose 

A clown could take her eye?" 

But whispers through the village ran 
That Edgar was the happy man 

The maid designed to bless; 
For wheresoever moved the fair, 
The youth was, like her shadow, there, 
And rumor boldly matched the pair, 

For village folks will guess. 

Edgar did love, but was afraid 
To make confession to the maid, 

So bashful was the youth: 
Certain to meet a kind return, 
He let the flame in secret burn, 
Till from his lips the maid should learn 

Officially the truth. 

At length, one morn to take the air, 
The youth and maid, in one-horse chair, 

A long excursion took. 
Edgar had nerved his bashful heart 
The sweet confession to impart, 
For ah ! suspense had caused a smart 

He could no longer brook. 

He drove, nor slackened once his reins, 
Till Hampstead's wide-extended plains 

Seemed joined to skies above; 
Nor house, nor tree, nor shrub was near, 
The rude and dreary scene to cheer, 
Nor soul within ten miles to hear, 
And still poor Edgar's silly fear 

Forbade to speak of love. 

At last one desperate effort broke 
The bashful spell, and Edgar spoke 

With most persuasive tone; 
Recounted past attendance o'er, 
And then, by all that's lovely, swore 
That he would love forevermore, 

If she'd become his own. 




The maid in silence heard his prayer, 
Then, with a most provoking air, 

She tittered in his face: 
And said, "Tis time for you to know 
A lively girl must have a beau, 
Just like a reticule — for show: 
And at her nod to come and go; 

But he should know his place. 

"Your penetration must be dull 
To let a hope within your skull 

Of matrimony spring. 
Your wife! ha, ha! upon my word, 
The thought is laughably absurd 
As anything I ever heard — 

I never dreamed of such a thing!" 

The lover sudden dropped his rein 
When on the center of the plain; 

"The linch-pin's out!" he cried; 
"Be pleased one moment to alight, 
Till I can set the matter right, 

That we may safely ride," 

He said, and handed out the fair; 
Then laughing, cracked his whip in air, 
And wheeling round his horse and chair, 
Exclaimed, "Adieu, I leave you there, 

In solitude to roam." 
"What mean you, sir?" the maiden cried, 
" Did you invite me out to ride, 
To leave me here without a guide? 

Nay, stop and take me home." 

" What take you home !" exclaimed the 

beau; 
"Indeed, my dear, I'd like to know 
How such a hopeless wish could grow, 

Or in your bosom spring. 
What! take Ellen home! ha, ha! upon 

my word, 
The thought is laughably absurd 
As anything I ever heard — 

I never dreamed of such a thing." 



LET HER GO. 

Let her go ! If a smile could love's severed 

chain rivet — 
If a sigh would recall her — I'd die ere 

1 'd give it. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE WISH. 

I will not ask that wealth or fame 
Should a worthless chaplet twine 

Around my brow or adorn my name, 
Nor that beauty should be mine. 

For these are transient as the dew, 

Before the burning sun, 
And fade as quickly from the view, 

Ere morning is begun. 

" In none of these," my heart replied, 
" Would the height of happiness be. — 

" True love, and a happy home!" I cried, 
"Is all that I ask of thee." 



THE WELCOME. 

Come in the evening, or come in the 

morning; 
Come when you 're looked for, or come 

without warning; 
Kisses and welcome you '11 find here be- 
fore you, 
And the of tener you come here the more 

I'll adore you! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

plighted; 
, Red is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever, 
And the linnets are singing, " True lovers 

don't sever!" 

I'll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you 

choose them! 
Or after you 've kissed them they'll lie on 

my bosom; 
I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to 

inspire you; 
I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that wont 

tire } 7 ou. 
Oh, your step 's like the rain to the sum- 
mer vex'd farmer, 
Or sabre or shield to a knight without 

armor; 
I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars 

rise above me, 
Then, wandering, I'll ask you in silence 

to love me. 



We '11 look through the trees at the cliff 

and the eyrie; 
We'll tread round the path on the track 

of the fairy; 
We '11 look on the stars, and we '11 list to 

the river, 
Till you ask of your darling what gift 

you can give her. 
Oh! she'll whisper you, — "Love, as un- 
changeably beaming, 
And trust, when in secret, most tunefully 

streaming; 
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall 

quiver, 
And our souls flow in one down eternity's 

river." 

So come in the evening, or come in the 

morning; 
Come when you're looked for or come 

without warning; 
Kisses and welcome you'll find here be- 
fore you, 
And the oftener you come here the more 

I'll adore you! 
Light is my heart since the day we were 

plighted ; 
Red is my cheek that they told me was 

blighted; 
The green of the trees looks far greener 

than ever, 
And the linnets are singing, — "True 

lovers don't sever." 




REMEMBER. 



Remember when combing your locks to- 
night, 

Should some tresses be twisted together 
tight, 

Look out for my heart and some others 
you 've spurn'd 

That strayed from their owners and never 
returned. 



BLOW HER UP. 

Blow up your wife when you've been 

misbehaving, 
A wise man straps his razor after shaving. < 

ji 




214 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




RICH. 

No richer guerdon could he crave, who 
dips, 
Like me, his crow-quill in the juice of 

poppy* 

Than these dear words, from some fair 
damsel's lips: 
"How very sweet! Do let me have a 
copy!" 



LIES. 



The wisest of the wise 

Listen to petty lies, 
And love to hear 'em told; 

Doubt not that Solomon 

Listen'd to many a one — 
Some in his youth, and more when he 

grew old. 



PARTING. 



Since there's no help, come let us kiss 
and part, — 
Nay I have done, you get no more of 
me, 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my 
heart, 
That thus so clearly I myself can free. 

Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, 
And, when we meet at any time again, 

Be it not seen in either of our brows 
That we one jot of former love retain. 



EVELEEN. 



There 's not a charm that hath a dwell- 
ing, 

On the land or on the sea, 
But my fancy 's fondly telling 

To my heart, 't is like to thee; 
The sea-bird light, in dazzling flight, 

When circling round my boat I 've 
seen, 
Its snowy wings to mem'ry brings 

The soft, fair neck of Eveleen. 




When the moonbeam on the billow, 

Sleeping o'er the deep I 've seen — 
Like to beauty on her pillow — 

Then I 've thought of Eveleen. 
But her splendor is less tender 

Than some eyes that I have seen; 
Deep as ocean my devotion 

For the lovely Eveleen. 

True love never was erratic; 

He hath wings but hath not flown. ] 
True love ne'er was democratic; 

He must always reign alone. 
Could affection make election, 

Could my heart but choose its queen, 
One girl alone should have the throne, 

And her sweet name is Eveleen. 



THE SILENT FAREWELL. 

In silence we parted, for neither could 

speak; 
But the tremulous lip and the fast-fading 

cheek, 
To both were betraying what neither 

could tell — 
How deep was the pang of that silent 

farewell ! 

There are signs — ah! the slightest, that 

love understands — 
In the meeting of eyes, in the parting of 

hands, 
In the quick-breathing sighs that of deep 

passion tell — 
Oh! such were the signs of our silent 

farewell! 

There's a language more glowing, love 
teaches the tongue, 

Than poet e'er dreamed or that minstrel 
e'er sung; 

But oh ! far beyond all such language 
could tell 

The love that was told in that silent fare- 
well! 



TRUTH. 



Men are only boys grown tall; 
Hearts don't change much after all. 





rt *® 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



215 6 



WHOSE CHOICE? 

Some faces are supinely fair, 

Some sparkling in their splendor; 

And some demure and debonair, 
And some divinely tender. 

Some win us with one fatal glance 
From eyes too brightly beaming. 

Some smile the smile that brings a 
trance, 
And life is lost in dreaming. 

Some flit before us sweet and gay, 
To fill our hearts with laughter; 

Then fade as fancies fade away, 
And leave no achings after. 

And some — some faces sorrow-kissed, 
When holiest thoughts are thronging, 

Come back, come always in that mist 
Of everlasting longing. 

So faces come, and faces go; 

Some make existence sweeter; 
And some, they make life sad we know — 

Yet being sad, completer. 

Until one face comes up at last, 

(Heaven knows each heart; don't 
doubt it), 

The future fades, the past is past! 
We cannot live without it. 

We ask not if men call her sweet, 

Or fair, or wise, or clever; 
We ask with passion, we. entreat, 
"Will you be mine forever?" 



THEN PLEDGED WE THE WINE 
CUP— THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Then pledged we the wine cup, and 
fondly I swore, 
From my home and my weeping friends 
never to part; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times 
o'er, 
And my wife sobbed aloud in her full- 
ness of heart. 




LAST JULY. 

She 's lovely twenty, and her eyes 

Are very soft and very blue; 
Her lips seem made for sweet replies — 

Perhaps they're made for kisses too; 
Her little teeth are white as pearl, 

Her nose aspires to the sky, 
She really is a charming girl, 

And I adored her — last July. 

We danced and swam and bowled and 
walked; 

She let me squeeze her finger-tips; 
Entranced I listened when she talk'd, 

And trash seemed wisdom from her 
lips. 
I sent her roses till my purse 

Was drained, I found completely dry: 
I longed to sing her charms in verse — 

But all of this was last July. 

Of course, at last we had to part; 

I saw a tear drop on her cheek; 
I left her with an aching heart, 

And dreamt about her for a week. 
But out of sight is out uf mind, 

And somehow as the time went by, 
Much fainter I began to find 

The memory of last July. 



July has come again at last; 

With summer gowns the rocks 

gay; 

It seemed an echo of the past 
To meet her on the beach to-day; 

She 's even fairer than before, 

And yet I could not tell you why, 

I find the girl an awful bore — 
So long it is since last July. 



are 



THIS EARTH IS DECKED. 

While others may a love pretend, 

A love they do not feel, 
Let me confess in humble verse 

A love I can't conceal. 

This earth is decked with female charms, 

With beauty rife and rare; 
But none to me so dear as you, 

And none are half so fair. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHEN GENTLE MUSIC. 

When gentle music sounding — 

Such as this; 
'T is sweet when friends surrounding 

Share our bliss; 
But love them as we may, 

We love them less, when near, 
Than when through meru'ry's tear 
We view them, far away. 

When over deserts burning, 

Far we roam,' 
'T is sweet, at last, returning 

To our home: 
Be 't happy as it may, 

That home no bliss bestows 
So fairy bright as those 
We^fancied when away. 

And when fond hearts are meeting, 

Beating high, 
How sweet the brilliant greeting 

Of the eye! 
But tho' so bright its ray, 
To lovers far more dear 
Is the sad, the secret tear, 
Shed for one who 's far away. 



GOODNESS. 



Who practice good are in themselves re- 
warded, 

For theirigood deeds are in their hearts 
recorded. 



ROSALIE CLARE. 

Who owns not she 's peerless, who calls 

her not fair, 
Who questions the beauty of Rosalie Clare, 
Let him saddle his courser and spur to 

the field, 
And though harnessed [in proof he must 

perish or yield; 
For no gallant can splinter, no charger 

may dare 
The lance that is couched for young 

Rosalie Clare. 

Ha & •■ = 



When goblets are flowing, and wit at the 
board 

Sparkles high while the blood of the red 
grape is poured, 

And fond wishes for fair ones around 
offered up, 

From each lip that is wet with the dew 
of the cup, 

What name on the brimmer floats oftener 
there, 

Or is whispered more warmly, than Rosa- 
lie Clare? 

They may talk of the land of the olive 
and vine, 

Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or 
Rhine; 

Of the houris that gladden the East with 
their smiles, 

Where the sea's studded over with green 
summer isles; 

But what flower of far-away clime can 
compare 

With the blossom of ours — bright Rosa- 
lie Clare? 

Who owns not she's peerless, who calls 
her not fair, 

Let him meet but the glances of Rosalie 
Clare! 

Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on 
her form; 

And if seeing and hearing his soul do not 
warm, 

Let him go breathe it out in some less 
happy air 

Than that which is blest by sweet Rosa- 
lie Clare. 



OH! DOUBT ME NOT. ELLEN. 

Although this heart was early blown, 
And fairest hands disturbed the tree, 

They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 

The bee through many a garden roves, 
And hums his lay of courtship o'er, 

But when he finds the flower he loves, 
He settles there and hums no more. 



<ht 






^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



217 



PLEASE /TO RING THE BELLE. 

niD — 

I '11 tell you a story that 's not in Tom 

Moore : 
Young love likes to knock at a pretty 

girl's door: 
So he called upon Lucy — 'twas just ten 

o'clock — 
Like a spruce single man, with a smart 

double knock. 

Now a hand-maid, whatever her fingers 

be at, 
Will run like a puss when she hears a 

rat-tat: 
So Lucy ran up, and in two seconds more 
Had questioned the stranger and answered 

the door. 

The meeting was bliss, but the parting 

was woe; 
For the moment will come when such 

comers must go. 
So she kissed him and whispered — poor 

innocent thing — 
"The next time you come, love, pray 

come with a — ring." 



THE GARRET. 

0, it was here that love his gifts be- 
stowed 

On youth's wild age! 
Gladly once more I seek my youth's 
abode 
In pilgrimage: 
Here my young mistress with her poet 
dared 

Reckless to dwell; 
She was sixteen, I twenty, and we shared 
This attic cell. 

Yes, 't was a garret ! be it known to all, 

Here was love's shrine: 
There read in charcoal, traced along the 
wall, 

The unfinished line. 
Here was the boai-d where kindred hearts 
would blend: 
The Jew can tell 
How oft I pawned my watch to feast a 
friend 

In attic cell. 




0, my Lisette's fair form could I recall 

With. fairy wand! 
There she would blind the window with 
her shawl, — 

Bashful, yet fond! 
What though from whom she got her 
dress I 've since 

Learned but too well? 
Still in those days I envied not a prince, 

In attic cell! 

Where shall I now find raptures that 
were felt, 

Joys that befell, 
And hopes that dawned at twenty, when 
I dwelt 

In attic cell? 
Dreams of my youthful days ! I 'd freely 
give, 

Ere my life's close, 
All the dull days I 'm destined yet to live, 
For one of those! 



DALMATIA. 



Her faith makes worthy things of worth- 
less, 
With all its promised powers. 
Her hope makes joyous hearts of mirth- 
less, 
With all the peace it showers. 
Her love can waken love now birthless: 
Would such a love were ours. 



SONG. 



One morning, on the sea-shore as I 
strayed, 
My heart dropped in the sand beside 
the sea; 
I asked of youder marines, who said 
They saw it in thy bosom — worn by 
thee. 

And I am come to seek that heart of 
mine, 
For I have none, and thou, alas! hast 

two; 
If this be so, dost know what thou 
shalt do? — 
Still keep my heart, and give me, give 
me thine. 

^0 



JPTfcj''-** <-_ 



218 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




FLORENTINE. 

If I am fair, 'tis for myself alone; 

I do not wish to have a sweetheart 
near me, 
Nor would I call another's heart my own, 
Nor have a gallant lover to revere me. 
For surely I will plight my faith to none, 
Though many an amorous cit would 
jump to hear me; 
For I have heard that lovers prove de- 
ceivers 
When once they find that maidens are 
believers. 

Yet should I find one that in truth could 
please me, 
One whom I thought my charms had 
power to move, 
Why, then, I do confess, the whim might 
seize me 
To taste for once the porringer of love. 
Alas! there is one pair of eyes that tease 
me, 
And then that mouth! — he seems a 
star above, 
He is so good, so gentle and so kind, 
And so unlike the sullen, clownish kind. 

What love may be, indeed, I cannot tell, 
Nor if I e'er have known his cunning 
arts; 
But true it is, there 's one I like so well 
That, when he looks at me, my bosom 
starts, 
And if we meet, my heart begins to swell; 
And the green fields around, when he 
departs, 
Seem like a nest from which the bird 

has flown: 
Can this be love? — say ye, who love have 
known? 



FAITH. 



Better trust all and bef deceived, 

And weep that trust, and that deceiv- 
ing, 
Than doubt one heart that, if believed, 
Had blessed one's life with true believ- 
ing. 




NO LONGER JEALOUS. 

I remember the time ere his temples were 

gray, 
And I frowned at the things he'd the 

boldness to say, 
But now he's grown old, he may say 

what he will, 
I laugh at his nonsense and take nothing 

ill. 

Indeed, I must say he's a little improved, 
For he watches no longer the "slily be- 
loved," 
No longer, as once, he awakens my fears, 
Not a glance he perceives, not a whisper 
he hears. 

If he heard one of late, it has never 
transpired, 

For his only delight is to have me ad- 
mired; 

And now, pray what better return can I 
make, 

Than to flirt and be always a — for his 
sake. 



A MORAL. 



A moral is this, accept it on sight, 
When playing the devil be dev'lish polite. 



FAR AS I JOURNEY. 

Far as I journey from my lady fair, 
I have a messenger who quickly goes, 
Morning, and noon, and at the even- 
ing's close, 
Where'er she wanders, he pursues her 
there. 
A restless, faithful, secret messenger 
Well may he be, who, from my heart of 

hearts, 
Charged with love's deepest secrets, thus 
departs 
And wings his way to her. 
'Tis every thought I form that doth 
pursue 

Thee, lady fair. 
Ah! would that there 
My wearied self had leave to follow too! 



¥ 



^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




IS IT ANY BODY'S BUSINESS. 

Is it any body's business 

If a gentleman should choose 

To wait upon a lady, 

If the lady don't refuse? 

Or to speak a little plainer, 

That the meaning all may know, 

Is it any body's business 
If a lady has a beau ? 

Is it any body's business 
But the lady's, if her beau 

Rideth out with other ladies, 
And doesn't let her know? 

Is it any body's business 
But the gentleman's, if she 

Should accept another escort, 
Where he doesn't chance to be? 

If a person 's on the sidewalk, 
Whether great or whether small, 

Is it any body's business 

Where that person means to call? 

Or if you see a person 

While he 's calling any where, 
Is it any of your business 

What his business may be there? 

The substance of our query, 
Simply stated, would be this: 

Is it any body's business 
What another's business is? 

Whether 'tis or whether 'tis n't, 
We should really like to know, 

For we are certain, if it isn't, 
There are some who make it so. 



ANGER, 



from her 



In anger flew her agile jaws, 
And swear-words darted 
tongue; 
The maid was fighting mad, because 
She couldn't make her bangs stay 
bung. 




POOR INDEED. 

Poor, indeed, thou must be if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst 
throw — 
If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world of weal and woe; 
If no dear eyes thy fond love can 
brighten — 
No fond voices answer to thine own; 
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten 
By kindness, sympathy, and gentle 
tone. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and 
lonely, 

Every day a rich reward will give; 
Thou wilt find by hearty struggling only, 

And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 



THE WRONGS OF LOVE. 

Alas, how bitter are the wrongs of love! 
Life has no other sorrow so acute; 
For love is made of every fine emotion, 
Of generous impulses and noble thoughts; 
It looketh to the stars and dreams of 

heaven; 
It nestles mid the flowers and sweetens 

earth. 
Love is aspiring, yet is humble, too: 
It doth exalt another o'er itself, 
With sweet heart-homage, which delights 

to raise 
That which it worships; yet is fain to 

win 
The idol to its lone and lowly home 
Of deep affection. 'T is an utter wreck 
When such hopes perish. From that 

moment, life 
Has in its depths a well of bitterness 
For which there is no healing: . 



REVERSING. 



Maria, just at twenty, swore 
That no man less than six feet four 

Should be her chosen one. 
At thirty, she is glad to fix 
A spouse exactly four feet six, 

As better far than none. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ANOTHER VIEW OF IT. 

'Mongst other thoughts of youthful days, 

One thought I can recall: 
'T were better to have loved and lost 

Than ne'er have loved at all. 

But now at riper years, methinks 
That thought of mine would run; 

'T were better to have loved and lost 
Than to have loved — and won. 



ANGELA. 



I loved her, for that she was beautiful, 
And that to me she seemed to be all na- 
ture 
And all varieties of things in one; 
Would set at night in clouds of tears, 

and rise 
All light and laughter in the morning; 

fear 
No petty customs nor appearances; 
But think what others only dream'd 

about; 
And say what others did but think; and 

do 
What others would but say; and glory in 
What others dared but do; it was these 

which won me; 
And that she never school'd within her 

breast 
One thought or feeling, but gave holiday 
To all, and that she told me all her woes 
And wrongs and ills; and so she made 

mine 
In the communion of love; and we 
Grew like each other, for we loved each 

other: 
She, mild and generous as the sun in 

spring; 
And I, like earth, all budding out with 

love. 
The beautiful are never desolate; 
For some one always loves them — God or 

man. 
If man abandons, God himself takes them, 
And thus it was. She whom I once 

loved, died. 
The lightning loathes its cloud; the soul, 
v its clay. 



Can I forget that hand I took in mine, 
Pale as pale violets; that eye, where mind 
And matter met alike divine? Ah no! 
May God that moment judge me when I 

do! 
Oh, she was fair; her nature once 

all spring 
And deadly beauty like a maiden sword; 
Startlingly beautiful. I see her now! 
Whate'er thou art, thy soul is in my 

mind; 
Thy shadow hourly lengthens o'er my 

brain 
And peoples all its pictures with thyself, 
Gone, not forgotten; pass'd, not lost; 

thou 'It shine 
In heaven like a bright spot in the sun! 
She said she wish'd to die, and so she 

died; 
For cloud-like, she poured out her love, 

which was 
Her life, to freshen this parched heart. 

' It was thus: 
I said we were to part, but she said 

nothing; 
There was no discord, it was music ceased; 
Life's thrilling, bursting, bounding joy. 

She sate 
Like a house-god — her hands fix'd on 

her knee; 
And her dark hair lay long and loose be- 
hind her, 
Through which her wild bright eye 

flash'd like a flint; 
She spake not, moved not, but she look'd 

the more; 
As if her eye were action, speech, and 

feeling. 
I felt it all, and came and knelt beside 

her, 
The electric touch solved both our souls 

together; 
Then comes the feeling which unmakes, 

undoes; 
Which tears the sea-like soul up by the 

roots 
And lashes it in scorn against the skies. 
Twice did I stamp to God, swearing, 

hand clench'd, 
That not even He, nor death should tear 

her from me. 
It is the saddest and the sorest night 



3 



-b 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




One's own love weeping. But why call on 

God? 
But that the feeling of the boundless 

bounds 
All feeling! as the welkin does the world. 
Then first we wept; then closed and 

clung together; 
And my heart shook this building of my 

breast 
Like a live engine booming up and down. 
She fell upon me like a snow-wreath 

thawing. 
Never were bliss and beauty, love and wo, 
Ravelled and twined together into mad- 
ness, 
As in that one wild hour, to which all 

else, 
The past, is but a picture. That alone 
Is real, and foi'ever there in front. 
After that I left her 
And only saw her once again alive. 



SEND BACK MY HEART. 

I prythee send me back my heart, 

Since I cannot have thine; 
For if from yours you will not part, 

Why, then, shouldst thou have mine. 



THE PRIDE OF MAY. 

When from the sod the flowerets spring, 
And smile to meet the sun's bright ray, 

When birds their sweetest carols sing, 
In all the morning pride of May, 

What lovelier than the prospect there ? 

Can earth boast anything more fair? 

To me it seems an almost heaven, 

So beauteous to my eyes that vision 
bright is given. 

But when a lady chaste and fair, 
Noble, and clad in rich attire, 

Walks through the throng with gracious 
air, 
As sun that bids the sun retire, — 

Then, where are all thy boastings, May? 

What hast thou, beautiful and gay, 

Compared with that supreme delight? 

We leave thy loveliest flowers, and watch 
that lady bright. 




Wouldst thou believe me, — come and 
place 
Before thee all this pride of May; 
Then look but on my lady's face, 

And which is best and brightest say: 
For me, how soon (if choice were mine) 
This would I take, and that resign, 
And say, " Though sweet thy beauties 

May, 
I 'd rather forfeit all than lose my lady 
gay!" 



THE TWO BIRDS. 

A bright bird lived in a golden cage, 
So gently tended by groom and page, 
And a wild bird came, her pomp to see, 
And said, " I wish I could live like thee; 
For thou canst sing, 
And prune thy wing, 
While dainty fare 
Thy slaves prepare." 
The wild bird came, her pomp to see, 
And said, " I wish I could live like thee !" 

Then from the cage came a plaintive 

voice, 
Which bade the^wild bird to rejoice, 
" For I 'd give my golden cage," said she, 
" For thy humble perch on the wildwood 
tree; 

For thou canst sing, 
On freedom's wmg — 
These bars of gold 
A slave enfold; 
I'd give my golden cage," said she, 
"For thy humble perch on the wildwood 
tree." 

Then, when the bird of the wildwood 

knew 
The bright one weary of bondage grew, 
He set the plaintive captive free, 
And away they flew singing "Liberty!" 

In joy they roam 

Their leafy home, 

And trill the lay 

The live-long day — 
The lay of love from hearts set free, 
For Love was blest with Lioerty! 



m 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




I CHANGE BUT IN DYING. 

Though fate ordains that we must part, 
And each fond tie doth sever, 

Yet still thou reignest in my heart, 
To be dethroned never. 

Thy resting place it still shall be, 
Should grief or care assail thee; 

And when thy fondest friends all flee, 
This refuge ne'er shall fail thee. 

Thy memory, fondly there enshrined, 
The dews of thonght shall nourish; 

And from the dross of earth refined, 
The plant of love shall flourish. 



HOW TO KISS. 

We find our way by far the best 
To set the senses in a whirl — 

Just give your own dear girl a rest, 
And kiss some other fellow's girl. 



SAINT ELISE. 

I have not changed, the shrines of old 
Are in my heart, and there I hold 

An image of you; 
Dear Saint Elise, ah, yes, as such, 
I worship you to-day as much, 

And more, I love you. 




AS CUPID ONE DAY. 

As Cupid one day 
Hide-and-seek went to play, 
He knew where to hide himself, sly and 
secure; 
So away the rogue dashes 
To hide 'mid the lashes 
That fringe the bright eyes of sweet 
Kitty Maclure. 
She thought 't was a fly 
That got into her eye, 
So she winked — for the tickling she 
could not endure; 
But love would not fly 
At her winking so sly, 
And still lurks in the eye of sweet Kitty 
Maclure. 



WHOM TO ASK. 

"Oh, 'tis time I should talk to your 
mother, 

Sweet Jennie," said I; 
"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says 
Jennie, 

Beginning to cry: 
"For my mother says men are deceivers, 

And never, I know, will consent; 
She says girls in a hurry who marry, 

At leisure repent." 

"Then suppose I would talk to your 
father, 
Sweet Jennie," says I. 
"Oh, do'nt talk to my father," says 
Jennie, 
Beginning to cry; 
" For my father, he loves me so dearly, 
He '11 never consent I should go — 
If you talk to my father," says Jennie, 
"He'll surely say, 'No!'" 

" Then how shall I get you, my jewel, 

Sweet Jennie? " says I: 
" If your father and mother 's so cruel, 

Most surely I'll die!" 
"Oh, never say die, dear," says Jennie; 

"A way now to save you I see: 
Since my parents are both so contrary — 

You 'd better ask me." 



CAN I DEAREST. 

Can I dearest e'er forget thee, 
Ever cease to think on thee, 
Shall I not much rather love thee, 
Since thou hast such love for me. 



ALAMENA. 



Fairer than the far-famed Helen, 

Lovelier than the flow'rets gay: 
Snow white teeth and lips truth-telling, 

Heart as open as the day, 
Golden hair, and fresh white roses; — 

Heaven that formed a thing so fair, 
Knows that never yet another 

Lived who could with her compare. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



223 






I HAVE FOUND ONE TRUE 
HEART. 

Long have I sought, and vainly have I 
yearned 
To meet some spirit that could answer 
mine; 
Then chide me not that I so soon have 
learned 

To talk with thine. 

Oh, thou wilt cherish what some hearts 
would spurn, 
So gentle and so full of soul thou art; 
And shrine my feelings in that holy urn, 
Thine own true heart. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

There are some spirits fitly strung 
To echo back the tones of mine; 

And those few, cherished souls among, 
I dare, dear friend, so number thine. 



ON THE BRINK. 

I watched her as she stooped to pluck 
A wild flower, in her hair to twine; 
And wished that it had been my luck 
To call her mine. 

Few'could have gazed upon that face, 

Those pouting coral lips, and chided: 
A Radamanthus, in my place, 
Had done as I did: 

For wrath, with which our bosoms glow, 
Is chained there oft by beauty's spell; 
And more than that, I did not know 
The widow well. 

She stood so calm, so like a ghost, 

Betwixt me and that magic moon, 
That I already was almost 
A finished coon. 

And to myself I murmured low, 

As on her upturned face and dress 
The moonlight fell, " Would she say no, 
By chance, or yes?" 




But when she caught adroitly up 

And soothed with smiles her little 
daughter, 
And gave it, if I 'm right, a sup 
Of barley-water, 

And kissed it clingingly — (Ah, why 
Don't women do these things in pri- 
vate ? ) — 
I felt that if I lost her, I 

Should not survive it. 

But this thought came ere yet I spake, 

And froze the sentence on my lips: 
" They err, who marry wives that make 
Those little slips." 

It came like some familiar rhyme, 

Some copy to my boyhood set; 
And that 's perhaps the reason I 'm 
Unmarried yet. 

Would she have owned how pleased she 
was, 
And told her love with widow's pride? 
I never found out that, because 
I never tried. 

So she is now a widow yet, 

And I am free to wed another, 
One that has no other pet; 

We '11 pet each other. 



COLIN. 



Beauty sat bathing by a spring 

Where fairest shades did hide her; 
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 

The cool stream ran beside her. 
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 

To see what was forbidden: 
But better memory said, fie! 

So vain desire was chidden: — 

Into a slumber then I fell, 

When fond imagination 
Seemed to see, but could not tell 

Her feature, or her fashion. 
But e'en as babes in dreams do smile, 

And sometimes fall a-weeping, 
So I awaked, as wise this while 

As when I fell a-sleeping. 





224 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A NICE CORRESPONDENT. A 
LETTER. 

The glow and the glory are plighted 
To darkness, for evening is come, 

The lamp in love's cottage is lighted, 
The birds and the Lyons are dumb. 

I'm alone at my casement, for pappy 
Is summoned to dinner to Kew: 

I'm alone, my dear Fred, but I'm happy — 
I'm thinking of you. 

Alas for the world, and its dearly 
Bought triumph and fugitive bliss! 

Sometimes I wish I was merely 
A plain or a penniless miss; 

But perhaps one is best with a measure 
Of pelf, and I'm not sorry, too, 

That I'm pretty, because it's a pleasure, 
My dearest, to you. 

Your whim is for frolic and fashion, 
Your taste is for letters and art, 

This rhyme is the commonplace passion 
That glows in a fair woman's heart. 

Lay it by in a dainty deposit 
For relics, we all have a few! 

Love, some day they '11 print*it, because it 
Was written to you. 

I wish you were here. Were I duller 
Than dull, you 'd be dearer than dear; 

I am drest in your favorite color — 
Dear Fred, how I wish you were here! 

I'm wearing my lazuli necklace, 
The necklace you fastened askew! 

Was there ever so rude or so reckless 
A darling as you. 



I 



RECONCILIATION. 

We have been friends together — it can- 
not all be o'er! 

Oh, let us nurse the smothered spark till 
it shall blaze once more! 

Here, take this hand; as once you deemed, 
its grasp is warm and true; 

And in my heart a gushing fount of 
love still springs for you. 

Oh, bless that beaming smile! it comes 
all sorrow to dispel; 

We're friends once more together — I 
will not say farewell ! 



THE PILGRIMS OF GLENVILLE. 

My little friend, so small and neat 
Whom years ago Uused to^meet 

In Glenville daily, 
How cheerily you tript away 
To work, it might have been to play, 

You tript so gaily. 

Each morning when we met, I think 
One sentiment us both did link, 

Nor joy nor sorrow; 
And then at eve, experience-taught, 
Our hearts were lighter for the thought,- 

We'll meet to-morrow! 

I 've seen some change since last we met- 
A patient little seamstress yet, 

On small means striving, 
And you (if love such luck allows) 
Some lucky fellow's little spouse ? 

And are you thriving? 

Yet still I often think upon 

Our many meetings come and gone! 

July — December! 
Now let us make a tryst, and when, 
Dear little soul, we meet again, — 

Thy friend, remember! 



FALR SEMBELIS. 

Fairer than the far-famed Helen, 

Lovelier than the flowerets gay; 
Snow-white teeth, and lips truth-telling, 

Heart as open as the day, 
Golden hair, and fresh, bright roses; — 

Heaven that formed a thing so fair, 
Knows that never yet another 

Lived who could with her compare. 



UPON A SEA OF LOVE. 

Upon a sea of love the raging storms I 
braved, 
And 'scaped the vengeful main; 
Wretched, alas! is he, who, from the 
wreck once saved, 
Trusts to the winds again. 



5*VPJ/t 



\cP 



15 



U 







WINTER SCENE IN BRITTANY. 



— c - 







226 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



TO MYRA. 

I leave thee now, my spirit's love! 

All bright in youth's unclouded light; 
With sunshine round, and hope above, 

Thou scarce hast learnt to dream of 
night. 

Yet night will come! — thy bounding 
heart 
Must watch its idols melt away; 
And, oh! thy soul must learn to part 
With much that made thy childhood 
gay! 

But should we meet in darker years, 
When clouds have gathered round thy 
brow, 

How far more precious in thy tears, 
Than in thy glow of gladness now! 

Then come to me, — thy wounded heart 
Shall find it has a haven still, 

One bosom — faithless as thou art, — 
All — all thine own, 'mid good and ill! 

Thou leav'st me for the world! then go! 

Thou art too young to feel it yet, 
But time may teach thy heart to know 

The worth of those who ne'er forget. 

And should that world look dark and 
cold, 

Then turn to him whose silent truth 
Will still love on, when worn and old, 

The form it loved so well in youth. 



THE SKATING RINK. 

Those who their balance can preserve are 

safe here any day; 
And those who can 't, I rather think, had 

better stay away. 



AIRS. 



Because of your wealth in your love 
affairs, 
> j£ you're truly happy, don't put on airs. 




SHOULD E'ER UNHAPPY LOVE. 

Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, 
From cruel parents, or relentless fair, 

0, let me think it is not quite in vain, 
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight 
air. 



OLD LIMBS. 



Old limbs, once broken, hardly knit to- 
gether, — 
Seldom old hearts with other hearts 
combine; 
Suspicion coarsely weighs the fancy's 
feather; 
Experience tests and mars the sense 
divine. 



GIVE THEM NOT BACK. 

The bier descends, the spotless roses too, 
The father's tribute in his saddest 
hour: 
0, earth! that bore them both, thou hast 
thy due, — 
The fair young girl and flower. 

Give them not back unto a world again, 
Where mourning, grief and agony have 
power, — 
Where winds destroy, and suns malignant 
reign, — 
That fair young girl and flower. 

Lightly thou sleepest, young Eliza, now, 
Nor fear'st the burning heat nor chilly 
shower: 
They both have perished in their morn- 
ing glow,— 
The fair young girl and flower. 

But he, thy sire, whose furrowed brow is 
pale, 
Bends, lost in sorrow, o'er thy funeral 
bower: 
And Time the old oak's roots doth now 
assail, — 
fair young girl and flower! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I DIE FOR THY SWEET LOVE. 

I die for thy sweet love! the ground 
Not panteth so for summer rain, 

As I for one soft look of thine: 
And yet I sigh in vain! 

A hundred men are near thee now — 
Each one, perhaps, surpassing me; 

But who doth feel a thousandth part 
Of what I feel for thee? 

They look on thee, as men will look 
Who round the wild world laugh and 
rove: 

I only think how sweet 'twould be 
To die for thy sweet love ! 



TRUE. 



Every dog must have his day, 
But the night belongs to cats. 



THE WHISTLER. 

"You have heard," said a youth to his 
sweetheart, who stood 
While he sat on a cornsheaf at day- 
light's decline — 
"You have heard of the Danish boy's 
whistle of wood; 
I wish that the Danish boy's whistle 
was mine." 

" And what would you do with it — tell 
me? " she said, 
While an arch-smile played over her 
beautiful face. 
"I would blow it," he answered, "and 
then my fair maid 
Would fly to my side, and would there 
take her place." 

"Is that all you wish for? Why, that 
may be yours 
Without any magic," the fair maiden 
cried ; 
"A favor so slight one's good nature 
secures," 
And she playfully seated herself by his 

side. 

n 



" I would blow it again," said the youth, 
" and the charm 
Would work so that not even modesty's 
cheek 
Would be able to keep from my neck 
your white arm," 
She smiled, and she laid her white arm 
round his neck. 

" Yet once more I would blow, and the 
music divine 
Would bring me a third time an ex- 
quisite bliss; 
You would lay your fair cheek to this 
brown one of mine, 
And your lips stealing past it would 
give me a kiss." 

The maiden laughed out in her innocent 

glee — 
" What a fool of yourself with the 

whistle you 'd make ! 
For only consider how silly 't would be 
To sit there and whistle for what you 
might take." 



MY LOST LOVE. 

Sad, forlorn, and broken-hearted, 
Thinking, my lost love, of thee, 

And of days ere we were parted, 
Who so happy then as we? 



ROSALIE. 



She comes — I know her by her radiant 

eyes, 
Before whose smile the long dim cloud 

departs; 
And if a darker shade be on her brow, 
And if her tones be sadder than of yore, 
And if she sings more solemn music now, 
And bears another harp than erst she 

bore, 
And if around her form no longer glow 
The earthly flowers that in her youth she 

wore — 
That look is loftier, and that song more 

sweet, 
And heaven's flowers — the stars — are 

at her feet. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




KINDNESS. 

The blessings which the weak and poor 

can scatter 
Have their own season. 'Tis a little 

thing 
To give a cup of water; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd 

lips, 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
More exquisite than when nectarean 

juice 
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
Of common comfort; which by daily use 
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear 
Of him who thought to die unmourned 

'twill fall 
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye 
With gentle tears; relax the knotted 

hand 
To know the bonds of fellowship again; 
And shed on the departing soul a sense 
More precious than the benison of friends 
About the honor'd death-bed of the rich, 
To him who else were lonely, that another 
Of the great family is near and feels. 



THE EMERALD RING. A SUPER- 
STITION. 

It is a gem which hath the power to show 
If plighted lovers keep their faith or no; 
If faithful, it is like the leaves of spring, 
If faithless, like those leaves when wither- 
ing. 

Take back again your emerald gem, 
There is no color in the stone, 

It might have graced a diadem, 

But now its hue and light are gone! 

Take back your gift, and give me mine — 
The kiss that sealed our last love-vow; 

Ah, other lips have been on thine, — 
My kiss is lost and sullied now! 

The gem is pale, the kiss forgot, 

And more than either, you are changed; 

But my true love has altered not, 
My heart is broken — not estranged. 




LOVE IS LIKE THE GLASS. 

Love is like the glass 
That throws its own rich color over all, 
And makes all beautiful. The morning 

looks 
Its very loveliest when the fresh air 
Has tinged the cheek we love with its 

glad red; 
And the hot noon flits by the most rapidly 
When dearest eye's gaze with us on the 

page 
Bearing the poet's words of love: and 

then 
The twilight walk, when the linked arms 

can feel 
The beating of the heart: upon the air 
There is a music never heard but once, 
A light the eyes can never see again; 
Each star has its own prophecy of hope, 
And every song and tale that breathe of 

love 
Seem echoes of the heart. 



THE WILLOW TREE. 

Oh, take me to your arms, my love, for 

keen the winds doth blow! 
Oh, take me to your arms, my love, for 

bitter is my woe ! 
She hears me not, she cares me not, nor 

will she list to me, 
Whilst here I lie, alone to die, beneath 

the willow tree. 

My love has wealth and beauty, the rich 

attend her door; 
My love has wealth and beauty, but I, 

alas! am poor. 
The ribbon fair that bound her hair is 

all that 's left to me, 
Whilst here I lie, alone to die, beneath 

the willow tree. 

I once had gold and silver, I thought 

them without end; 
Once I had gold and silver, I thought I 

had a friend. 
My friend I lost, her heart was false, her 

love was stolen from me; 
Now here I lie, alone to die, beneath the 

willow tree. 




Fb 



A BOOK OF POKMS 




THERE IS A LOVE. 

There is a love that o'er the war 
Of jarring passion pours its light, 

Ami sheds its influence like a star 

That brightest burns in darkest night. 



LAST YEAR. 



Last year he wrote: "The roses blossom 

red 
And palely white to scent the hot still 

air, 
And then soft springing in the garden bed, 

The aromatic pinks all tall and fair, 
Nod to each other as the dawn grows 

clear." 
That was last year! sad heart! that was 

last year! 

Here is the page! as there I sadly trace 
The failing hand that pain's keen touch 
had pressed, 
Fnote the faltering, the increasing space, 
As if the task was hard, then longed 
for rest 
Were yet more urgent. Ah! I sitting 

here 
Remember all his letter said last year. 

And now I rise — and wander all alone 
Beneath his roses; when wan night 

glides by 
Fsee the moonlight sleeping on the stone 
That marks the spot where he out 

there doth lie, 
At rest — alone — he who was once so 

dear, 
From whom that letter came; last year — 

last j ear! 

And yet I am alone, beyond life's pain 
That friend I loved lies silent — while 

his flowers 
Rise from the earth and blossom once 

again 
As they did blossom in those better 

hours, 
When that which is was but a haunting 

fear, 
And he was with us still: oh! sad last 

year. 




And yet! if they can spring from out the 

sod, 
Will he and I not meet and speak once 

more? 
Thou maker of our friendship; patient 

God! 
Send me one message from that silent 

shore! 
Yet nothing see I, nothing can I hear, 
Save echoes faintly calling — ah! last 

year. 



WOMEN AND APPLES. 

With women and apples both Paris and 
Adam 
Made mischief enough in their day: — 
God be praised that the fate of mankind, 
my dear madam, 
Depends not on us the same way. 
For weak as I am with temptation to 
grapple, 
The world would have doubly to rue 
thee; 
Like Adam, I 'd gladly take from thee the 
apple, 
Like Paris, at once give it to thee. 



HUMBLE LOVE. 

I love thee. Yes, as flowers love light 

and air, 
As night its stars, or earth the glorious 

sun, 
As the crushed heart loves lone and earnest 

prayer, 
So love I thee, thou true and earnest 

one! 
And this is life — the life that thou canst 

give — 
'Tis but one thing to love thee and to 

live. 



SUPPOSE. 



Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop 

Around a cankered stem should twine; 
What fiendish boor would tear away the 
prop, 
So roughly as to wound, nay, kill the 
vine? 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ART AND NATURE. 

Eliza Jane two lovers had, 

The one was Nature, t 1 other Art, 

They were so very near alike, 
She could n't tell the two apart. 

At last, to test their qualities, 

And give to each his proper place. 

She offered each a photograph 
Of her unyielding, pretty face. 

Art seized the pretty paper prize, 
And pressed it to his heart, and then 

He put it to his marble lips 

And kissed it o'er and o'er again. 

But Nature threw the painted gift 
Away, with haughty, proud disdain, 

And, clasping her with strong embrace, 
He kissed the fair Eliza Jane ! 

"Begone, Art!" the maiden cried, 
"Let critics sing your praise sublime, 

Men will be men, and girls are girls, 
And I '11 choose Nature all the time." 



HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HIS 
MOTHER'S MARRIAGE. 

that this too solid flesh would melt, 
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! 
Or that the everlasting had not fixed 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! God! 

OGod! 
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable 
Seem to me all the uses of this world! 
Fie on't, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
That grows to seed; things rank and 

gross in nature 
Possess it merely. That [it should come 

to this! 
But two months dead! — nay, not so 

much, not "two: 
So excellent a king: that was, to this 
Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my 

mother, 
That he might beteem the winds of 

heaven 
Visit her face too roughly.^ Heaven and 

earth ! 




Must 1 remember? why she would hang 

on him, 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on: and yet, within a 

month, — 
Let me not think on't — Frailty, thy 

name is woman! — 
A little month; or ere those shoes were 

old, 
With which she followed my poor father's 

body, 
Like Niobe, all tears; — why she, even 

she, — 
heaven ! a beast, r that wants discourse 

of reason, 
Would have mourned longer, — married 

with my uncle, 
My father's brother; but no more like 

my father 
Than I to Hercules: Within a month; 
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous 

tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
She married. 



IF THOU LOVEST. 

Oh! if thou lovest, 
And art a woman, hide thy love from him 
Whom thou dost worship; never let him 

know 
How dear he is; flit like a bird before 

him, — 
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower 

to flower; 
But be not won, or thou mayest, like that 

bird, 
When caught and caged, be left to pine 

neglected, 
And perish in forgetf ulness. 



THE CHURCH. 

A man may cry church! church! at every 
word, 
With no more piety than other people; 
A daw's not reckoned a religious bird 
Because it keeps a-cawing from a 
steeple. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




1 DO LOVE VIOLETS. 

T do love violets! 
They tell the history of woman's love; 
They open with the earliest breath of 

spring; 
Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew, and 

light, 
And if they perish, perish with a sigh 
Delicious as that life. On the hot June 
They shed no perfume: the flowers may 

remain, 
But the rich breathing of their leaves is 

past. — 
The violet breath of love is purity. 



I'M GROWING OLD. 

My days pass pleasantly away; 

My nights are blest with sweetest sleep; 
I feel no symptoms of decay; 

I have no cause to mourn or weep; 
My foes are impotent and shy, 

My friends are neither false nor cold, 
And yet, of late, I often sigh, — 
I'm growing old! 

My growing talk of olden times, 
My growing thirst for early news, 

My growing apathy to rhymes, 
My growing love for easy shoes, 

My growing hate for crowds and noise, 
My growing fear of taking cold, 

All whisper in the plainest voice, 

I'm growing old! 

• 

I'm growing fonder of my staff; 

I'm growing dimmer in my eyes; 
I'm growing fainter in my laugh; 

I'm growing deeper in m} 7 sighs; 
I'm growing careless of my dress; 

I'm growing frugal of my gold; 
I'm growing wise; I'm growing, — yes, — 
I'm growing old! 

I see it in my changing taste; 

I see it in my changing hair; 
I see it in my growing waist; 

I see it in my growing heir; 
A thousand signs proclaim the truth, 

As plain as truth was ever told, 
That even in my vaunted youth, 
I'm growing old. 



Thanks for the years ! — whose rapid flight 
My somber muse too sadly sings; 

Thanks for the gleams of golden light 
That tint the darkness of their wings; 

The light that beams from out the sky, 
Those heavenly mansions to unfold 

When all are blest and none may sigh, 
"I'm growing old!" 




A PASSER-BY. 

I watch her pass with quiet "grace; 

The sunlight lingers on the spot, 
To gently kiss her sweet, shy face. 

I wonder if she sees or not 
The crippled lad who calls her his, 
Whose only glimpse of heaven she is. 

"My little girl!" I wonder what 

(I think sometimes with bitter smile) 

"My little girl" would say to that? 
Perhaps for such a little while 

She would not mind — it is, you see, 

So slight to her, so much to me! 

But when it rains she never comes; 

Ah me, the long, dull, weary day! 
The people hurry to their homes, 

While I — 1 never get away; 
And as I lie and watch them go, 
Her own own sweet name I whisper low. 

If only I could touch her hand, 

Or hear her speak, or meet her eyes! 

If once, just once, she would but stand 
Near me, and kiss me angel-wise ! 

Life might be dreary as before, 

But hard, cold, empty — never more! 

I know a place where breezes low 
Stir the £oft grass and daisy-heads; 

That is my heaven. Some day I know 
They '11 find me room where no one 
treads, 

Where I cau lie no longer ill, 

And dream of her, and love her still. 



ALL SHALL FADE. 

Since painted or not painted, all shall fade, 

And she who scorns a man must live a 

maid. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A REBUS. 

"What is a rebus?" I asked of dear 
Mary, 
As close by my side the gay maiden 
was seated. 
I saw her eyes droop and her counten- 
ance vary, 
And she said in reply, " 'T is a kiss, sir, 
repeated." 



SINCE YOU HAVE GONE. 

Since you have gone, lost love, the early 

air 
Is not shot thro' with cosy gleams that 

bear 
My spirit with them in their flight: the 

wind 
That idles in the noonday, leaves behind 
No leafy footsteps fair to look upon, 
Since you have gone. 

The evening is not filled with tender 

light, 
Like to the face of dying saint, when 

night 
Draws near; the moonbeams rippling on 

the grass, 
And breaking in a foam of flowers, alas! 
Have faded into shadows chill and wan, 
Since you have gone. 

The days and seasons wither on their 

stem, 
And life, that seemed to shape a diadem 
Of joys for my expectant brow, holds 

back 
Her hand; and now there stalks across 

my track 
Only the shades of days that might have 

shone, 

Since you have gone. 



NAY, SHEPHERD! NAY! 

"Nay, shepherd! nay! — thou art un 
wary; 
Thy flocks are wandering far away." 
"Alas! I know it well — 'tis Mary 
Who leads my troubled 
astrav." 



thoughts 




NOT A WOMAN'S PART. 

Alas! to seize the moment 
When heart inclines to heart, 

And press a suit with passion, 
Is not a woman's part. 

If man comes not to gather 
The roses where they stand, 

They fade among their foliage; 
They cannot seek his hand. 



THE LETTERS. 

Still on the tower stood the vane; 

A black yew gloomed the stagnant air; 
I peered athwart the chancel pane, 

And saw the altar cold and bare. 
A clog of lead was 'round my feet, 

A band of pain across my brow; 
" Cold altar, heaven and earth shall meet 

Before you hear my marriage vow." 

I turned and hummed a little song 

That mocked the wholesome human 
heart; 
And then we met in wrath and wrong; 

We met, but only met to part. 
Full cold my greeting was, and dry; 

She faintly smiled, and hardly moved; 
1 saw with half unconscious eye 

She wore the colors I approved. 

She took the little ivory chest — 

With half a sigh she turned the. key; 
Then raised her head with lips com- 
pressed, 

And gave my letters back to me. 
And gave the trinkets and the rings, 

My gifts, when gifts of mine could 
please; 
As looks a father on the things 

Of his dead son, I looked on these. 

She told me all her friends had said; 

I raged against the public liar; 
She talked as if her love were dead, 

But in my words were seeds of fire. 
"No more of love — your sex is known: 

I never will be twice deceived; 
Henceforth I trust the man alone — 

The women cannot be believed. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



233 







ROSA. 

I ne'er on the border 
Saw girl fair as Rosa, 

The charming milk-maiden 
Of sweet Finojosa. 

In a pleasant green meadow, 
'Midst roses and grasses, 

Her herd she was tending, 
With other fair lasses. 

So lovely her aspect, 
I could not suppose her 

A simple milk-maiden 
Of rude Finojosa. 

Her very great beauty 
Had nearly subdued me, 

When proposals I made 
To darling young Rosa. 

And now I am married 
To lovely young Rosa, 

The charming milk-maiden 
Of sweet Finojosa. 



THE LOVED ONE WAS NOT 
THERE. 

We gathered round the festive board 

The crackling fagot blazed, 
But few would taste the wine thatpour'd 

Or join the song we raised. 
For there was now a glass unfilled — 

A favour'd place to spare; 
All eyes are dull, all hearts were 
chill'd — 

The loved one was not there. 

No happy laugh was heard t6 ring, 

No form would lead the dance; 
A smother'd sorrow seemed to fling 

A gloom in every glance. 
The grave has closed upon a brow, 

The honest, bright and fair; 
We miss'd our mate, we mourn'd the 
blow — • 

The loved one was not there. 



A LOVE SONG. 

Dear Kate, I do not swear and rave, 

Or sigh sweet things ;is many can; 
But though my lip ne'er plays the slave, 

My heart will not disgrace the man. 
I prize thee — aye, my bonny Kate, 

So firmly fond this breast can be, 
That I would brook the sternest fate 

If it but left me health and thee. 

I do not promise that our life 

Shall know no shade on heart or brow; 
For human lot and mortal strife 

Would mock the falsehood of such vow; 
But when the clouds of pain and care 

Shall teach us we are not divine, 
My deepest sorrow thou shalt share, 

And I will strive to lighten thine. 

We love each other, yet perchance 

The murmurs of dissent may rise; 
Fierce words may chase the tender glance, 

And angry flashes light our eyes. 
But we must learn to check the frown, 

To reason rather than to blame; 
The wisest have their faults to own, 

And you and I, girl, have the same. 

You must not like me less, my Kate, 

For such an honest strain as this: 
I love thee dearly, but I hate 

The purling rhymes of u kiss" and 
" bliss." 
There 's truth in all I 'ye said or sung; 

I woo thee as a man should woo; 
And though I lack a honey 'd tongue, 

Thou 'It never find a breast more true. 



A PLUMBER. A TRUE STORY. 

A plumber, he went forth to plumb 
To a kingly palace, by the way, 

And when his half-day's work was done, 
Presented his bill without delay. 

The king brought forth his bags of gold, 

His diamonds and his jewelled crown, 
The plumber credit gave for them, 

throne. 



And took a mortgage on his 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




A LETTER. 

When he hath had 
A letter from his lady dear, he blessed 
The paper that her hand had travelled 

over, 
And her eye look'd on, and^ would think 

he saw 
Gleams of that light she lavish'd from 

her eyes, 
Wandering amid the words of love she 'd 

traced 
Like glow-worms among buds of flowers. 

He seem'd 
To bear with being but because she 

lov'd him; 
She was the sheatlTwherein his soul had 

rest, 
As hath a sword from war. 



A MODEST WIT. 

A supercilious nabob of the East — 

Haughty, being great — purse-proud, 
being rich — 
A governor, or general,"at the least, 

I have forgotten which — 
Had in his family an humble youth, 

Who went from England in his pat- 
ron's suite, 
An unassuming boy, and in truth 

A lad of decent parts and good repute. 



This youth had sense and spirit, 
But yet with all his sense, 
Excessive diffidence 

Obscured his merit. 



One day at table, flushed with pride and 
wine, 

His honor, proudly free, severely merry, 
Conceived it would be vastly fine 

To crack a joke upon his secretary. 
"Young man," he said, "by what art, 
craft, or trade, 

Did your father gain a livelihood?" — 
"He was a saddler, sir," Modestns said, 

And in his lifetime was reckoned good." 




"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, 
Instead of teaching you to sew! 

Pray, why did not your father make 
A saddler, sir, of you? " 

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, 
The joke applauded, and the laugh went 
round. 
At length Modestus, bowing low, 
Said (craving pardon if too free he made) 
" Sir, by your leave I fain would know 
Your father's trade!" 

" My father's trade! by heaven, that's too 

bad! 
My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are 

you mad? 
My father, sir, did never stoop so low — 
He was a gentleman, I' d have you know." 

"Excuse the liberty I take," 

Modestus said, with archness on his 
brow, 
"Pray, why did not your father make, 

A gentleman of you?" 



SHALL I FORGET THEE. 

Shall I forget thee when the pallid cheek, 
The sighing voice, wan looks, and 
plaintive air, 
No more the roseate hue of health be- 
speak ? 
Shall I neglect thee as no longer fair? 
No, lovely maid! If in my heart I seek, 
Thy beauty deeply is engraven there. 



THE TRUE VALUE OF WEALTH. 

To catch Dame Fortune's golden smile 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather wealth by every wile 

That' s justified by honor; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge 

Not for a train attendant; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



235 




COURTIN' IN THE COUNTRY. 

Zekiel gets the "chores" done, 
He feeds the hens and pigs, 
Tends to the cows and sheep, 
Then he gets on his "rigs." 
Young tow-heads around him, 
Shouting to the old 'un, 
Saying they'll bet a cent that Zeke's get- 
ting on his Sunday-go-to-meetin's 
just to go a holdin'. 

Zeke marches to the place; 

He knocks and hears " come in! " 
They 're all glad to see him, 

They take his shawl and pin. 
Zeke, after looking round, 
Squats on the proffered seat; 
He has n't much to say, consequently he 
does n't say much; but all the time 
he keeps a lookin 1 at his hat. 

The old gentleman talks 

Of horses and the crops; 
And the old lady asks, 

About his mother's hops. 
She also friendly asks 
What butter they have churned? 
Zekiel gets uneasy, and he mentally ejac- 
ulates: "Hops, butter, and things 
be derned!" 

Old folks keep a talkin', 

Crickets keep a buzzin', 
Sally looks at Zekiel, 

Zekiel keeps a fussin'; 
Sally thinks it 's bed-time, 
And Zekiel thinks so too; 
And old folks seem tickled, and keep a 
lookin' at each other, and then at 
Zeke and Sally, as if they knew a 
thing or two. 

The old man pulls his boots 

And travels off to bed, 
The old lady 's yawning, 

And tying up her head. 
Zekiel 's feeling tickled, 
Feeling kinder funny: 
He thinks the time has come for him to 
pop the question, get a wife, and 
commence a layin' up the money. 




Now the old folks are gone, 

But Sal is still knittin'; 
Zeke fidgits all around, 

And steps on the kitten. 
She asks him why so mum? 
And Zekiel hems and haws: 
He gives an awful cough, then he crosses 
his legs, then he uncrosses them, 
and then he ejaculates — "because!" 

Zeke at once " pitched right in," 
Flung his arm around her; 

Said that she must be h s. 
She 'd not got a sounder. 

Zeke kept a holdin' on, 

And swore his fate he 'd know; 

While Sal could but utter, " Zeke Jones, 
I '11 tell you what it is, I can't 
stand it, and I wont let you hug 
me so." 

But Zeke vowed and declared, 
By all things good and bad. 

He never would " leave go," 
Till an answer he had: 

He declared he loved her, 

And his love was growin'; 

She modestly replied: "Zeke Jones, I'd 
like mighty well to believe you but 
I'm most awfully afraid you're 
blowin'!" 

"I '11 be dogged if lam!" 
Shouts Zekiel all in joy; 

"Do you think I would lie — 
Think I am a lyin' boy ? 

Oh ! wont you have me, Sal, 

I '11 tell you what it is — 

If you wont have me Sal, I '11 go right off 
to the wars, and some day there 
will be a big cannon ball come 
along and take off my head, cher 
biz." 

"Oh! yes, I'll have you, Zeke, 

Can't let you go away; 
But, Zeke, you '11 have to see 
What pa and ma will say." 
When Zeke this answer got, 
He trotted off "to hum," 
And tickled was so much, he could n't 
sleep a wink that night, without 
dreaming of the good time to come 





A B'OOK OF POEMS 




YE STOICS. 

Ay, ye may smile, ye stoics! but 'tis true, 

And not the fiction of a poet's brain; 
The heart's first bloom of love, like morn- 
ing dew, 
Once brushed, ne'er sparkles on the 
flower again. 
Love comes but once, like blossom to the 

rose, 
The deep soul-searching flame, our first 
affection knows. 



BURNING THE LETTERS. 

These dear old letters! Ah can I 

Consign them to the flames, 
And see the cruel tongues of fire. 

Wipe out the old pet names? 
Ah ! yes — I may as well — for she 

Will never say again 
The tender, loving words that here 

Were written by her pen. 

And yet she is not dead — ah, no — 

I wish to Heaven she were, 
Before she took her heart from me 

And I took mine from her. 
For love can go beyond the grave — 

It stops not with the breath; 
It reaches to the unseen world — 

Yes! love is strong in death. 

But love is not as strong as life, 

No! life can live love down; 
And leave her bleeding in the dust, 

And bear away her crown. 
How strange it would have seemed to me 

When these fond words were penned; 
To know the time would come when she 

Would cease to be my friend. 

Each word here is but mockery, 

Each line a broken vow; 
Yet I would give the world to feel 

That they were valid now. 
" Eternal friendship " does not last, 

'Tis broken soon or late; 
To love forever means to love 

Until you learn to hate. 



Then take these letters, kindly flames, 

I give them all to you; 
Oh ! blot forever from my sight 

The words no longer true, 
'T is better so — yes, let them feel 

Thy cruel, stinging smart, 
And turn to ashes, dead and cold 

As those within my heart. 



THE CAUSE OF HER GRIEF. 

Her bosom was heaving 

With wildest emotion; 
His gaze was set on her 

With fondest devotion. 

He saw she was weeping — 
This true-hearted lover — 

The cause of her sorrow 
He sought to discover. 

" tell me," he whispered. 

" The cause of your weeping, 
And why from your lover 
The reason you 're keeping? 

" Hast lost any trinket — 

An earing or locket; 
Your chewing-gum dropped through 
A hole in your pocket?" 

" 0, worse than that Harry," 
The fair maiden blubbered; 

"My papa won't buy me 

A New Mother Hubbard!" 



GREEN BE THE TURF. 

Green be the turf above thee, friend of 

our better days! 
None knew thee but to love thee, or 

named thee but to praise. 
Tears fell when thou wert dying, from 

eyes unused to weep, 
And long where thou art lying, will tears 

the cold turf steep. 
When hearts whose truth is proven, like 

thine, are laid in earth, 
There should a wreath be woven, to tell 

the world their worth. 




A liOOK OF POEMS 




A MODEL WOMAN. 

I know a woman wondrous fair — 

A model woman she — 
Who never runs her neighbors down 

When she goes out to tea. 

She never gossips after church 

Of dresses or of hats ; 
She never meets the sewing school, 

And joins them in their spats. 

She never beats a salesman down, 
Nor asks for pretty plaques; 

She never asks the thousand things 
Which doth his patience tax. 

These statements may seem very strange 
At least they may to some; 

But just remember this, my friends, 
The woman's deaf and dumb. 



DOUBTFUL ECONOMY. 

HE. 

" Now since we Ve been marrried, dear 
Florence, 

How much more contented are we 
At home here so quiet each evening', 

Instead of amid the gay spree 
Of late ball-room parties, and so forth, 

And weariness that it all gave — 
We used to go through ere we wedded — 

While think of the money we save!" 

SHE. 

" Oh yes! that is true, darling Edwin — 

I'm glad o'er the change in my life; 
But really, the old social pleasures 

Entice not your loving young wife. 
Indeed it is nice that at saving 

At last we are learning the knack! — 
Have we saved enough, do you think, 
dear, 

To buy me a new sealskin sacque? " 



OUR DAYS. 



Not how we end, but how we spend our 
days. 




TIME CONQUERS ALL. 

Sharp winds doth blow, all nature meets 

dec-ii) ', 
Time conquers all, and we must time 

obey. 
So adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams 

and groves; 
Adieu, ye shepherd's rural lays and loves; 
Adieu, my flocks farewell, ye sylvan crew; 
Daphne, farewell! and all the world, 

adieu! 

Resound, ye hills, resound my mournful 

lay! 
Farewell, ye woods; adieu the light of 

day; 
The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan, 
In notes more sad than when they sing 

their own: 
Ah! what avail the beauties nature wore; 
Fair Daphne 's dead and love is now no 

more. 



ELOISE TO ABELARD. 

Now, fly me, fly me, f ar^as pole from pole, 
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans 

roll: . 
Ah, come not, write not, think not once 

of me, 
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. 
Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign; 
Forget, renounce thee, hate whate'er was 

thine. 
Fair eyes, and tempting looks which yet I 

view! 
Long loved, adored ideas, all adieu ! 
If then thy once loved Eloise see, 
It will be then no crime to gaze on me. 
Till every motion, pulse, and breath be 

o'er; 
And e'en my Abelard be loved no more. 



PERFECTION. 

Who has not looked upon her brow, 
Has never dreamed of perfect bliss; 

But once to see her is to know 
What beauty, what perfection is. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




AT THE MASQUERADE. 

I know 't was not the proper thing to do, 
And yet I thought it would be jolly too, 
To^o alone to that swell masquerade, 
And so I did it. Well, my plans were laid. 
My wife of my intentions naught did 

know, 
I told her out of town I had to go, 
And^she believed me. Leaving her to stay 
At home, I went and danced in costume 

gay. 
I had been at the ball an hoar or so, 
When some one introduced a domino. 
I saw that she was plump and graceful, 

and 
She had a pretty little foot and hand. 
Her eyes, I noticed, flashed like diamonds 

bright, 
Though plump, she waltzed divinely; 

feather light, 
And then she flirted with most perfect 

art, 
It is n't singular I lost my heart. 

Soon my sweet charmer I began to ask 
To'step into an alcove and unmask: 
To let me see the lovely face I 'd swear 
Was^hid behind that mask. My lady fair 
At first refused. I pleaded long and 

hard; 
Declared my life forever would be marred, 
Unless her cruelty she would relent. 
My pleading won, at last, a shy consent, 
Her face she would permit my eyes to 

view, 
If I'd unmask the self -same instant, too. 
The dancing hall had alcoves all around, 
As soon as ourselves in one of these we 

found; 
The alcove was, for two, the proper size, 
And passing dancers would not recognize 
You, for the light was dim within the 

niche, 
And flowers, about, their perfume gave. 

My witch 
Her mask removed. I meantime did the 

same, — 
"My wife!" "My husband!" So we 

did exclaim. 
The truth we neither of us had mis- 
trusted, 
,And each was disappointed and disgusted. 



HERE, TAKE MY HEART. 

Here, take my heart — 't will be safe in 
thy keeping, 
While I go wand'ring o'er land and 
o'er sea; 
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleep- 
ing, 
What need I care, so my heart is with 
thee? 

If, in the race we are destined to run love, 
They who have light hearts the hap- 
piest be, 
Then, happier still must be they who have 
none, love, 
And that will be my case when mine is 
with thee. 

It matters not where I may now be a 
rover, 
I care not how many bright eyes I may 
see; 
Should Venus herself come and ask me 
to love her, 
I 'd tell her I could n't — my heart is 
with thee. 

And there let it lie, growing fonder and 
fonder — 
For, even should fortune turn truant 
to me, 
Why, let her go — I 've a treasure beyond 
her, 
As long as my heart 's out at int'rest 
with thee. 



LISTEN. 



How sweet 't is to listen, with too willing 
ear, 

To words that we wish for yet tremble to 
hear; 

How sweet 'tis to listen when some one 
may tell 

Of the friend that we love and remember 
so well, 

While 'midst the soft pleasure, we won- 
der if thus 

The friend so beloved ever thinks upon 
us. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




SOCRATES SNOOKS. 

Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation, 

The second time entered the marriage re- 
lation; 

Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, 

And they thought him the happiest man 
in the land. 

But scarce had the honeymoon passed 
o'er his head, 

When one morning to Xantippe Socrates 
said, 

" I think, for a man of my standing in 
life, 

This house is too small, as I now have a 
wife: 

So as early as possible Carpenter Carey 

Shall be sent for to widen my house and 
my dairy." 

"Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe re- 
plied, 

"I hate to hear everything vulgarly 
ruy'd; 

Now whenever you speak of your chat- 
tels again, 

Say our cowhouse, our barnyard, our pig- 
pen." 

" By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say 
what I please 

Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my 
trees." 

"Say our!" Xantippe exclaimed in a 
rage. 

" I won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask 
me an age!" 

Oh, woman ! though only a part of man's 
rib, 

If the story in Genesis do n't tell a fib, 

Should your naughty companion e'er 
quarrel with you, 

You are certain to prove the best man of 
the two. 

In the following case this was certainly 
true, 

For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off 
her shoe, 

And laying about her all sides at random, 

The adage was verified — "Nil desperan- 
dum." 

Mr. Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain 

To ward off the blows, which descended 
like rain — 
dr. 



Concluding that valor's best part was dis- 
cretion — 

Crept under the bed like a terrified Hes- 
sian; 

But the dauntless Xantippe, not one 
whit afraid, 

Converted the seige into a blockade. 

At last after reasoning the thing in his 
pate, 

He concluded 't was useless to strive 
against fate: 

And, so like a tortoise protruding his head, 

Said: "My dear, may we come out from 
under our bed? " 

"Ha! ha!" she exclaimed, "Mr. Socrates 
Snooks, 

I perceive you agree to my terms by your 
looks: 

Now, Socrates, hear me — from this 
happy hour, 

If you '11 only obey me I '11 never look 
sour." 

'Tis said the next Sabbath, ere going to 
church, 

He chanced for a clean pair of trousers 
to search; 

Having found them, he asked, with a few 
nervous twitches, 

" My dear, may we put on our new Sun- 
day breeches?" 




MY BOYHOOD. 

Ah ! well I mind me of the days, 

Still bright in memory's flattering rays, 

When all was fair and new; 
When knaves were only found in books, 
And friends were known by friendly 
looks 

And love was always true ! 



SPLEEN. 



Unnumber'd throngs on every side are 

seen, 
Of bodies changed to various forms by 

spleen. 
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy 

works, 
And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for 

corks. ~ . 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A GOOD FELLOW. 

Just for the sake of being called a good 
fellow, 
Just for the praise of the sycophant 
crowd 
That smoked your cigars, quaffed your 
rich wines and mellow, 
You are sleeping to-day 'neath the sod 
in your shroud. 

Just for the sake of being called clever — 
dashing — 
By, human hogs living outside of a 
pen, 
The rain on your cold bed is ceaselessly 
splashing, 
While you shouldfbe living — a man 
among men. 

Just for the sake^of beingTpointed at — 
looked at — 
By the false, insincere, hypocritical 
crew, 
That grows on the follies of weak 
brains — like yours — fat, 
You are as dead as the dreams your 
boyish soul knew. 

You feigned a contempt for the eagles of 
yellow, 
And scattered them; broadcast with 
boisterous mirth — 
Just for the sake of being called a "good 
fellow," 
You are nothing to-day^but"a box full 
of earth. 



THE BIRDLET. 

The birdlet on the treeling 
Now carols forth his notelet, 

The boy that hath no feeling 
Ties tin-cans to the goatlet. 

What then? The spring is'here, 
In palace and in hutlet; 

The goat doth get upon his ear, 
And gives that boy a butlet. 



THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE. . 

Remember that the cursed desire to know, 
Offspring of Adam! was thy source of 

woe. 
Why wilt thou then renew the vain pur- 
suit, 
And rashly catch at the forbidden fruit; 
With empty labor and eluded strife 
Seeking by knowledge to attain to life;' 
Forever from that fatal tree debarr'd, 
With flaming swords and angry cherubs 

guard. 
Give me some slip of this most delightful 

tree, 
And in my garden planted it shall be. 



THE ROSES. ! 



You may break, you may shatter the'vase 

if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang 

round it still. 



MERIT. 



Beauties in "vain their pretty eyes may 

roll: 
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins 

the soul. 
Then trust me, dear! good-hiimor will 

prevail, 
When airs, and flights, and 'screams,*f and 

scolding fail. 



THE LOCK OF HAIR. BELINDA. 

When your fair suns shall set, as set they 

must, 
And all your tresses shalFbe laid'in dust, 
This lock the muse shall u consecrate_to 

fame, 
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's 

name. 



rP 



OH, WOMAN. 

Oh, woman, you 're only a part of man's 

rib. 
If the story in Genesis do n't tell a fib. < 






^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



RESOUND, YE HILLS. 

Resound, ye hills, resound rny mournful 

strains ! 
I'll fly from shepherds, flocks and flowery 

plains; 
From shepherds, flocks and plains I may 

remove, 
Forsake mankind, and all the world, but 

love. 



PARTING TIME. 

Low burned the fire; the room was dim; 

We heard the warning clock strike 
ten — 
And by message stern and grim, 

Knew parting time had been. 

"I had a dream last night," I said; 

"I'll tell it to you ere I go; 
I thought, my dear, your little head 

Was lying on my shoulder — so. 

411 T is time to go,' I said, and you — 
You kissed me twice upon my cheek. 

Now, tell me love, do dreams come true?" 
How archly did my darling speak. - 

"Why, some come true, and some do not: 
In dreams like this I quite believe — " 

And then she kissed me twice, and got 
Her waist entangled in my sleeve. 

Why is it that to say good-night 
Must take so long a time? I know 

When lips are sweet, and eyes are bright, 
One can but linger, loth to go. 

But, somehow, ere I went away 

That night, the clock had struck 
elev'n — 

So long it takes, you see, to say 

What seemed an easy task at seven. 



IS IT A CRIME? 

Oh, ever beauteous, ever friendly, tell, 
Is it in Heaven a crime to love too well? 
To bear too tender or too firm a heart? 
To act in friendship, or a lover's part? 
X> 16 




THE WORLD. 

'Tis an excellent world that we live in — 

To lend, or spend, or give in; 

But to borrow, or beg, or get a man's 

own, 
'Tis just the worst world that ever was 

known. 



WHAT IS THE NAME? 

I never have loved thee — yet strange tho' 

it be, 
So soft are the feelings I cherish for thee, 
That the wildest of passions could never 

impart 
More joy to my soul, or more bliss to my 

heart. 
They come o'er my breast in my happiest 

hours, 
They come like the south wind that ruf- 
fles the flowers, 
A thrilling of softness, a thrilling of 

bliss — 
Say what is the name for a passion like 

this? 

It cannot be friendship — then can it be 

love; 
Yet I know the sweet feeling descends 

from above, 
For it takes from my bosom no portion 

of ease, 
Yet adds all the rapture, the pleasure of 

these; 
For so soft the emotion my spirit hath 

nursed, 
It is warm as the last, and more pure than 

the first; 
For my heart when near thine grows soft 

as a dove — 
Yet it cannot be friendship — it sure 

must be love. 



EPITAPH FOR A BACHELOR. 

At three score winters' end I died, 
A cheerless being, sore and sad; 

The nuptial knot I never tied, 
And wish my father never had. 





242 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME. 

The hour was sad I left the maid, 

A lingering farewell taking, 
Her sighs and tears my steps delay'd — 

I thought her heart was breaking; 
In hurried words her name I bless'd, 

I breathed the vows that bind me, 
And to my heart in anguish press'd 

The girl I left behind me. 

Then to the east we bore away 

To win a name in story; 
And there, where dawns the sun of day, 

There dawned our son of glory! 
Both blazed in noon on Alma's height, 

Where, in the post assigned me, 
I shar'd the glory of that fight, 

Sweet girl I left behind me. 

Full many a name our banners bore 

Of former deeds of daring, 
But they were of the days of yore, 

In which we had no sharing; 
But now our laurels freshly won, 

With the old ones shall entwined be, 
Still worthy of our sires, each son, 

Sweet girl I left behind me. 

The hope of final victory 

Within my bosom burning, 
Is ming'ling with sweet thoughts of thee 

And of my fond returning: 
But should I ne'er return again, 

Still worth thy love thou 'It find me, 
Dishonor's breath shall never stain 

The girl I leave behind me. 



SAPPHO TO PHAON. 

By charms like thine, which all my soul 

have won, 
Who might not — ah! who would not be 

undone? 
The vows you never will return, receive; 
And take at least the love you will not 

give. 

'T is thou art all my care and my delight, 
My daily longing, and my dream by night. 
As if once more forsaken, I complain, 
A^nd close mv eyes, to dream of you again. 



THE SNAKE. 

My love and I, the other day, 
Within a myrtle arbor lay, 
When near us from a rosy bed, 
A little snake put forth its head. 

"See," said the maid, with thoughtful 
eyes — 

" Yonder the fatal emblem lies! 
Who could expect such hidden harm 
Beneath the rose's smiling charm? " 
Never did grave remark occur 
Less apropos than this from her. 

I rose to kill the snake, but she, 
Half smiling, pray'd it might not be. 
"No," said the maiden — and, alas, 

Her eyes spoke volumes while she said 
it — 
"Long as the snake is in the grass, 

One may perhaps have cause to dread 
it: 
But when its wicked eyes appear, 
And, when we know for what they 
wink so, 
One must be very simple, dear, 
To let it wound one — do n't you think 
so?" 



OH! SAY NOT WOMAN'S HEART 
IS BOUGHT. 

Oh! say not woman's heart is bought 

With vain and empty treasure; 
Oh! say not woman's heart is caught 

By every idle pleasure. 
When first her gentle bosom knows 

Love's flame, it wanders never; 
Deep in her heart the passion glows, — 

She loves, and loves forever. 

Oh ! say not woman 's false as fair, 

That like the bee she ranges; 
Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare, 

As fickle fancy changes. 
Ah. no! the love that first can warm 

Will leave her bosom never; 
No second passion e'er can charm, — 

She loves, and loves forever. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




DO N'T BELIEVE IT. 

I will never believe that the Thomas H. 
Cat 
Abducted that silvery spoon, 
And I '11 never believe in the heifer cow 
that 
Jumped over the man in the moon. 

I will never believe that Santa Claus 

comes 
Down a seven-inch chimney or flue, 
And brings several sleighs and two twenty 

inch drums 
And a square yard of stomach-ache, too. 

I will never believe that G. Washington 
(kid), 
When he cut off the cherry supply, 
Ambled up to his pa, and remarked "Sir, 
I did 
The base deed with my axe. I can't 
lie." 

I will never believe in the wonderful way 

That the Red Sea was formerly crossed; 

And I '11 never believe advertisers who 

say 

They are selling their goods below 

cost. 

I will never believe that one-tenth of the 
girls 
Think only of making a " mash," 
And I'll never believe that their banglets 
or curls 
Are worse than a waxed-up mustache. 

I will never believe that old Farmer 
Bo-az, 
Would have let Miss Ruth glean 
'mongst his wheat; 
If she had not been willing, as she in 
deed was, 
To lie down at the old fellow's feet. 

I will not believe that old Mother Naomi 
Would have ever told Ruth such a 
yarn; 
As she did, if old Bo-az had never told 
her, 
He 'd be winnowing grain in his barn. 



I will never believe I am better than 
God, 
I know I am guilty of evil; 
And I '11 never believe while in the land 
of Nod 
That I 'm quite as bad as the devil. 

But I will believe that a preacher tells 
lies, 
When he says that God made all things 
well; 
That he waits to punish his child 'till he 
dies, 
Then casts his soul down into hell! 



FAITHFUL EVER. 

Hast forgotten the days, love, the long- 
vanished days, 
When our spirits communed through 
the bird and the flower; 
When the Stars linked our thoughts by 
their glittering rays, 
In a chain that had more than electrical 
power? 

Those days were the violet blossoms of 
love; — 
Young flowers that have faded and 
shrunk from thy view; 
But though withered, forgotten, to thee 
they may prove, 
They are pressed to one heart ever 
faithful and true. 



DOMESTIC VIRTUES. 

How happy he, who to his hearth 
Can woo domestic love and worth! 
How sweet are fireside joys! How dear 
The charms that please and soothe us 

here! 
The gentle tone, the ready hand, 
The smile so willing and so bland, 
The noiseless step, the household grace, 
The soft and bright, but thoughtful face, 
The fireside virtues grave and still, 
Neatness, industry and skill, — 
Oh, do not these exceed in worth 
The costliest jewels of the earth? 
And do not they deserve man's pride 
More than all earthly wealth beside? 

— A&. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




MEET ME HALF WAY WITH 
A KISS. 

Come teach me the worth of affection, 

The love that will never grow cold, 
A bliss which will brighten life's path- 
way, 

More precious than silver or gold. 
Then whisper of joy in a cottage — 

A charmer that no love would miss — 
And with your sweet face flushed in 
beauty, 

Just meet me half-way with a kiss. 

Come, tell me how long I must linger, 

A-sighing for love you can give; 
These years you have kept me a-wait- 
ing — 

It 's hard out of sunshine to live. 
Then teach me the worth of affection, 

While I am so eager for bliss, 
And with your fair face bright with 
blushes, 

Just meet me half-way with a kiss. 

Come, teach me the art of true loving, 

And smile when I call you my dear; 
My heart is now throbbing with pleasure, 

And tenderly drawing you near. 
While youth's bright warm summer is 
passing, 

0, give me one token of bliss! 
Just fly to my arms with an answer, 

I'll meet you half-way with a kiss. 

While shadows of twilight are deep'ning, 
And nightingale's songs we can hear, 

Come, teach me the worth of affection, 
And love that is constant and dear. 

I wait in the sweet blooming clover, 
And long for your token of bliss; 

Come love, with your fond eyes a-glow- 

ing, 
And meet me half-way with a kiss. 




I FEEL NO PRIDE. 

I feel no pride, but pity 

For the burdens the rich endure; 
There is nothing sweet in the city 

But the patient lives of the poor. 



FROM MARY FAR AWAY. 

The evening light was dying, 

The boat rowed from the strand, 
The exile deeply sighing 

To leave his native land; 
But sighs were on the shore as well, 

As o'er the dark'ning bay, 
Young Mary watch 'd the fading sail 

That bore her love away. 

The exile reach 'd a foreign shore, 

In camp and court he shone, 
With brave and fair renown he bore, 

Yet still he felt alone. 
Avoid was in the soldier's heart 

Amid the bold and gay, 
He mourn'd the hour that bade him part. 

From Mary, far away! 



OH! NEVER ASK ME "WHY?" 

Oh! never ask me why the rose is red, 
Oh! never ask me why the lily's fair, 

Enough for me to know that nature shed 
Her beauty there — 

So never ask me "why?" 

Oh ! never ask me why I love the night, 
And why the bright stars hold me in 
their spell, 
For why I love, and how they give their 
light, 
I cannot tell — 

So never ask me " why ? " 

Oh! never ask me why I'm fond of 
thee: — 
We may be sure of much we can't ex- 
plain ! 
I only know 'tis joy thy face to see, 
To part is pain — 

But never ask me " why ? " 



ESTRANGED HEARTS. 

Kind hearts that have been long estranged, 
and friends that have grown cold, 

Should meet again — like parted streams 
— and mingle as of old. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHAMBERS 1 ENOCH ARDEN. 

" Woman, disturb me not now at the last, 
But let me hold my purpose till I die. 
Sit down again; mark me and understand, 
While I have power to speak. I charge 

you now, 
When you shall see her, tell her that I 

died 
Blessing her, praying for her, loving her; 
Save for the bar between us, loving her 
As when she laid her head beside my 

own. 
And tell my daughter Annie, whom I 

saw, 
So like her mother that my latest breath 
Was spent in blessing her and praying 

for her. 
And tell my son that I died blessing him. 
And say to Philip that 1 blessed him too; 
Be never meant us anything but good. 

But if my children care to see me dead, 
Who hardly knew me living, let them 

come, 
I am their father; but she must not 

come, 
For my dead face would vex her after-life. 
And now there is but one of all my 

blood 
Who will embrace me in the world-to-be; 
This hair is his: she cut it off and gave it, 
And I have borne it with me all these 

years, 
And thought to bear it with me to my 

grave ; 
But now my mind is changed, for I shall 

see him, 
My babe in bliss, wherefore when I am 

gone, 
Take, give her this, for it may comfort 

her: 
It will, moreover be a token to her, 
That I am he." 

He ceased, and Miriam Lane 
Made such a voluble answer, promising 

all, 
That once again he roll'd his eyes upon 

her 
Repeating all he wished, and once again 
She promised. 




Then the third night after this, 
While Enoch slumbered, motionless and 

pale, 
And Miriam watched, and dozed at in- 
tervals, 
There came so loud a calling of the sea, 
That all the houses in the haven rang. 
He woke, he rose, he spread his arms 

abroad 
Crying with a loud voice " a sail ! a sail ! " 
I am saved;" and so fell back and spoke 

no more. 
So passed the strong heroic soul away. 
And when the} T buried him the little 
port 
Had seldom seen a costlier funeral. 



DEAR MAY. 



Now, rather would I choose, by Heaven 

above, 
To die this instant than to lose thy love. 
For who that once possessed those 

heavenly charms, 
Could live one moment absent from thy 

arms. 



SOPHIA. 



Is that the grief which you compare with 

mine? 
With ease the smiles of fortune I resign. 
Would all my gold in one bad deal were 

gone, 
Were lovely Sophia mine, and mine alone. 



MY DEAR WIFE. 

Let fall on her a rose-leaf rain of dreams, 
All passionate sweet, as are the loving 

beams 
Of starlight on the glimmering woods 

and streams. 



UNCOMMON. 

I know the thing that 's most uncommon; 

(Envy, be silent and attend!) 
I know a reasonable woman, 

Handsome, and witty, and yet a friend. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




POETICAL PROVERBS. 

The good are better made by ill, 
As odors crushed, are sweeter still. 

Immodest words admit of no defense, 
For want of decency is want of sense. 

Time, place, and action may with pains 

be wrought, 
But genius must be born and never can 

be taught. 

Home, the spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore, 
But I loved the great sea more and more. 

If happiness has not her seat and center 

in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, but 

never can be blest. 

I Ve often heard old, cunning stagers 
Say, fools for arguments use wagers. 

Of all bad things by which mankind are 

curst, 
Their own bad tempers surely are the 

worst. 

Each must in virtue and in strife excel, 
That man lives twice who lives the first 
life well. 

Not usurers make more beggars while 

they live, 
Than charitable men who heedless give. 

With fame in just proportion envy grows, 
The man that makes a character makes 
foes. 

Scorn no man's love, though of a mean 

degree, 
Much less make any one thine enemy. 

to her share some female errors fall, 
Look on her face, and you '11 forget them 
all. 

Learning, by study must be won: 
'T was ne'er entailed from sire to son. 




DON'T MARRY TWICE. 

Christ saw a wedding once, the Scripture 

says, 
And saw but one, 'tis thought, in all bis 

days; 
Whence some infer, whose conscience is 

too nice, 
No pious christian ought to marry twice. 

"Increase and multiply," was Heaven's 

command; 
And that 's a text I clearly understand. 
This too : " Let men their sires and mothers 

leave, 
And to their dearer wives forever cleave." 

More wives than one by Solomon were 

tried, 
Or else the wisest of mankind 's belied; 
I've had myself full many a merry fit, 
And trust in Heaven I may have many 

yet; 

For when my transitory spouse, unkind, 
Shall die, and leave his woeful wife be- 
hind 
I '11 take the next good Christian I can 
find. 

Paul, knowing one could never serve our 

turn, 
Declared 'twas better far to wed than 

burn. 
I envy not their bliss, if he or she 
Think fit to live in perfect chastity. 

Full many a saint, since first the world 

began, 
Lived an unspotted maid, in spite of man; 
For me, I'll keep the post assigned by 

Heaven, 
And use the copious talent it has given. 

Let my good spouse pay tribute, do me 

right, 
And keep an even reckoning every night, 
His proper body is not his but mine, 
For so said Paul, and Paul's a sound di- 
vine. 





A BOOK OF TOEMS 



247 O 



\ 



THE DOOR STEP. 

The conference meeting through at last, 

We boys around the vestry waited 
To see the girls come tripping past, 

Like snow birds, willing to be mated. 
Not braver he that leaps the wall 

By level musket-flashes litten, 
Than I, who stepped before them all, 

Who longed to see me get the mitten. 

But no; she blushed and took my arm. 

We let the old folks have the high- 
way, 
And started toward the Maple Farm 

Along a kind of lovers' by-way. 
I can't remember what we said; 

'T was nothing worth a song or story, 
Yet that rude path by which we sped 

Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was crisp beneath our feet, 

The moon was full, the fields were 
gleaming; 
By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, 

Ber face with health and youth was 
beaming. 
The little hand outside her muff — 

0, sculptor, if you could but mould it! — 
So lightly touched my jacket cuff, 

To keep it warm I had to hold it. 

To have her with me there alone — 

'Twas love and fear and triumph 
blended. 
At last we reached the foot-worn stone 

Where that delicious journey ended. 
The old folks, too, were almost home; 

Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, 
We heard the voices nearer come, 

Yet on the door step still we lingered. 

She shook her ringlets from her hood, 

And with a "Thank you, Ned," dis- 
sembled; 
But yet I knew she understood 

With what a daring wish I trembled. 
A cloud passed kindly overhead, 

The moon was slyly peeping through it, 
Yet hid its face, as if it said, 

Come, now or never! do it! do it!" 



My lips till then had only known 
The kiss of mother and of sister; 

But somehow full upon her own 
Sweet, rosy, darling mouth— I kissed 
her! 

Perhaps 't was boyish love, yet still — 

listless woman! weary lover! 

To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill, 

1 'd give — but who can live youth over? 




IF THIS WERE SO. 

0, Love! if I should see you standing 
here, 
I, to whom the memory'of a scene — 

This lane, tree-shadowed, with the sum- 
mer's light 
Falliug in golden showers, the boughs 
between, 

Upon your upturned face — shines out as 
clear 

Against the back-ground dark of many a 
year 

As yonder solitary starlet bright 

Gleams on the storm-clad bosom of the 
night. 

If this were so — if you should come to 
me, 
With your calm, angel face, framedin 
with gold, 
And lay your hand in mine as long ago 
You laid it coldly, would the love un- 
told, 
Hidden within my heart, set my lips free 
To speak of it and know the certainty 
Of love crowned or rejected — yes or no? 
0, love, I could not speak if this were so. 

But if you came to meet me in the lane 
With footsteps swifter than you used 

of yore — 
And if your eyes grew brighter, dear, as 

though 
They gladdened at my coming back once 

more — 
If, when I held your little hand again, 
Your calmness grew less still, then not in 

vain 
My heart would strive to speak, for it 

would know 
What words to utter, love, if this were 

so! 





§^248 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




N1CKERDEMUS' QUADRILLE. 

Choose yo' pardners, time 's er flyin', 

Take yo' places on de flo'; 
Do n't, yo' hear dat fiddle cryin' 

"Nickerdemus ebbermo!" 

S' lute yo' pardners, bow perlitely, 

Dat 's de motion through and through; 

Swing dem corners, step up lightly, 
Hail Columby! Hallaloo! 

Firs' fo' forward, keep er diggin', 

Now you sashey back again. 
Neber mind yo' ragged riggin', 

So's't don't show de naked skin. 

Ladies change, an' keep er scootin', 
Cross right ober, now yo' swing. 

Hold dem heads up hifalutin', 
Look permiskus, dat 's de ting. 

Balance all! now don't git lazy, 

Fly aroun' an' far yo' shirt. 
Stop dem feet, but do n't go crazy, 

Else somebody sho' get hurt. 

Fiddler got his mouf wide op'm 
Hol'in down dat music tight; 

Teeth, dey settin' sorter slope'm 
Look like tombstones in de nite. 

All sashay ! I 'clar' to gracious ! 

Nebber seed de like befo'; 
Niggers sho'ly dance oudacious, 

'Siderin' drouth an' oberflow. 

Hebenly kingdom! Look at Mary! 

Bofe eyes shinin' like de moon! 
"Don't git w'ary, don't git w'ary," 

Dat 's de way to change de tune. 

Promenade! now dat comes handy; 

Hunt yo' seats an' take a res'. 
Gentlemens will pass de candy 

To de gals dey love de bes'. 



MY GERALDINE. 

There 's many a maiden bright and fair 

Upon our village green; 
But what bright maiden can compare 

With thee, my Geraldine? 




ART THOU FORSAKEN? 

Art thou forsaken? Cold and dark, in- 
deed, 
The fate unsoothed by sympathetic 
tears ! 
And well the stricken heart unstaunched 
may bleed, 
With no soft, pitying voice to lull its 
fears. 

Art thou reviled? Do foes ensnare thy 
feet? 
Do proud ones mock thee, and thy 
friends betray? 
Thou canst not drain the bitter from the 
sweet, 
Nor pluck the rose and throw the thorn 
away. 



FAITHFULNESS. 

Oh, shame may come upon thy name, 
And want and suffering dim thine eye, 

But thou wilt find me still the same, 
For love like mine can never die. 

I will be thine through weal and woe, 
Through days of joy and sorrow's night; 

My faith like morning's beams shall glow, 
My love shall be thy quenchless light. 



WHISPERING. 

Low whispering by us with a silent kiss, 
Comes the sweet south wind o'er the 
slumbering sea: 
Thou, dearest ! can such a perfect joy as 
this 
Be always mine, to drift through life 
with thee? 



ALWAYS REMEMBERED. 

I think of thee when the bright sunlight 
shimmers 

Across the sea; 
When the clear fountain in the moon- 
beam glimmers, 

I think of thee. 



^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




FORGIVEN. 

To-day I must forgive you in a song, 
And put all from me for the old love's 
sake — 
Leave the vexed question, who was right 
or wrong 
When love broke up, and our hearts 
did not break; 
And thiuk of you as one not far away. 
What is there floating in the air to-day 
That gets old sleeping memories awake ? 

A lark began it, singing out of sight; 
Then from wet woods a thrush put in 
your name, 
And sang it over for my heart's delight; 
And with the wet-blown breath of 
flowers there came 
A tender, subtle fragrance of regret: 
On dead love's grave the grass grows 
greener yet, 
And you to-day, far off, may think the 
same. 



Let us remember how, in days gone by, 
When our lives mixed together for 
love's sake, 
We stood thus, while the light went out 
on high, 
And birds stopped singing; while from 
field and brake, 
Whence bats flew out in stealthy, circling 

flight, 
We heard the small, sweet voices of the 
night 
Begin in faltering music to awake. 

You thought me so much better than I 
was — 
I found you perfect — ah, to blame! to 
blame! 
The sweet hallucination could but pass, 
And with the passing how much sharp- 
ness came! 
You, nothing perfect — cold, intolerant, 
With mind on some far, shadowy, good 
intent, 
You love a moonbeam; mine, the sun's 
large flame. 



Well, what is left for us to say or do? 
So many thorns you found in my poor 
rose, 
I took it from your hand and laughed at 
you; 
The tears came after — then came bland 
repose — 
Almost forgetfulness — until to-day, 
The thrushes singing of you all the way, 
Found me the song my wanderings to 
close. 

I deemed you should be with me, but, 
alas! 
That sweetest thought could not my 
fancy hold: 
I only trail my shadow on the grass — 
Here 's nature to myself, and rest un- 
told.— 
Yet the time wants you, and the peaceful 

place 
Would be more peaceful for your peace- 
ful face, 
Your gracious figure, and your hair's 
red gold. 

Ah! woods and fields all speak to me of 
you, 
As you, in town, would speak of these 
to me; 
Gray, quiet air faint sunlight falters 
through, 
The rest of hills, the eve's tranquility, 
Through which some late, last bird flies 

home and sings — 
We love you for your semblance to these 
things, 
But find behind no fair reality. 

And this is the forgiveness that I planned? 
And do I chide you to the end? Nay, 
sweet ! 
So long ago since we loosed hand from 
hand, 
My love and sorrow both have been 
complete; 
And both have almost faded out of 
sight — 
Almost, I say, you understand, not 

quite, — 
Your voice might quicken still my 
pulse's beat. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




It seems a strange forgiveness — yet, in- 
deed, 
You are forgiven for the thrushes' sake. 
Live on and prosper! We have no more 
need 
Of one another — no more thirsts to 
slake — 
And many days I find, and many miss, 
But haply nevermore a day like this, 
To kiss old sleeping memories awake. 



THE UMBRELLA ON THE BEACH. 

Of all the joys that summer brings, 

The one that doth excel, ah ! 
It is to lounge upon the beach 

Beneath a big umbrella. 

The sea quite near, and nearer still 
Some charming rustic belle, ah! 

And watch the girls in bathing suits 
Of red, and blue, and yellah, 

Gro through all sorts of pretty tricks 

To fascinate a fellah; 
To feel the spray bedew your cheek 

And bring a fragrant smell, ah! 

And scoop from out the glistening sand 

A crab or muscle-shell, ah! 
To think you're in enchanted land, 

Held by a fairy spell, ah ! 

And dreamily a tale of love 
In whispered tones to tell, ah! 

And then perhaps a kiss to get 
That makes your bosom swell, ah! 

With pride and joy. There 's naught I 
vow, 

Such pleasure can excel, ah! 
Unless it be, as you may see,"^ 

For her to kiss a fellah. 

And if yuu doubt, go seek a beach, 
Find some bewitching belle, ah! 

And while away an hour or two 
Beneath a big umbrella. 



A LAJ)Y. 




A lady! pardon my mistaken pen, 

A shameless woman is the worst of men. 



WOMEN. 

But blame us women not if some appear 
Too cold at times; and some too gay 
and light. 
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are 
hard to bear. 
Who knows the past? and who can 
judge us right? 

Whom first we love, you know, we seldom 
wed. 
Time rules us all, And life, indeed, is 
not 
The thing we planned it out ere hope 
was dead. 
And then we women cannot choose our 
lot. 



RULES FOR COURTSHIP. 

The youth who would a pretty maiden 

woo 
Will profit if he keeps these rules in view: 
Be not precipitate, nor yet go slow, 
Be not abashed with a rebuff or so; 
If she is unresponsive, distant, cold, 
The wooer must be delicately bold. 
If she is timid, diffident and shy, 
Don't fret — she'll find more courage by 

and by. 
Let not her first refusal give distress, 
A woman's no is often meant for yes. 



CAPITAL AND LABOR. 

Pray, Charley dear, she laughing said, 

The difference tell to me, 
'Tween capital and labor so 

That 1 may clearly see. 

He sat the maiden on his knee, 
And stroked her pretty head; 

Now this is capital, my dear, 
The laughing lover said. 



The gentle maiden gravely said, 
0, yes, my dear, I see, 

'Tis capital until we've wed, 
And then 't will labor be. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



251 






MY DARK-HAIRED GIRL. 

My dark-haired girl, thy ringlets deck, 

In silken curl, thy graceful neck; 

Thy neck is like the swan, and fair as the 
pearl, 

And light as air the step is of my dark- 
haired girl! 

My dark-haired girl, upon thy lip 
The dainty bee might wish to sip, 
For thy lip it is the rose, and thy teeth 

they are pearl, 
And diamond is the eye of my dark- 

hair'd girl! 

My dark-haired girl I 've promised thee, 
And thou thy faith hast given to me, 
And oh! I would not change for the 

crown of an earl, 
The pride of being loved by my dark-haired 

girl! 



SAYS KATE. 

"You're a great hand at fishing," says 
Kate, 
'T is yourself that knows how, faith, to 
hook them; 
But when you have caught them, agra, 
Don't you want a young woman to cook 
them?" 
Says the saint, " I am serious inclin'd, 

I intend taking orders for life, dear." 
" Only marry," says Kate, " and you '11 
find 
You '11 get orders enough from your 
wife, dear." 



TRUTH. 




Truth, every word; though it perhaps 
may strike 
The reader as too gingerly expressed. 
Women and truth, I find, depend alike 
For their effect upon the way they 're 
dressed. 
But nothing can exceed a woman's tact 
In fancy dressing both herself and fact. 



THE HOUR I PASS WITH THEE. 

The hour I pass with thee, my love, 
Doth yield this heart the most delight, 
Oh! what on earth is half so bright 

As hours I pass with thee? 
And as the breeze that fans the grove, 
Is perfumed by the fragrant flowers, 
So time can sweetness steal from hours 

I pass, my love, with thee! 

When mem'ry o'er the distant past 
Pursues her course with weary wing, 
The only joys she back can bring 

Are hours I've passed with thee! 
And when through future time, as fast 
Fond fancy steers, with hopeful power, 
Her leading star is still the hour 

I 've yet to pass with thee. 



the 



A FAREWELL. 

Gro fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie, 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie; 
The boat rocks at the pier of Leith, 

Full loud the wind blows from 
ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I must leave my bonnie Mary. 



The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts of war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody. 
But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Would make me longer wish to tarry; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 

It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 



WED. 



As all flesh is but grass, and all flowers 

will fade, 
It is better to wed than to live an old 

maid. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE CROOKED STICK. A MORAL. 

Julia was lovely and winning — 

And Julia had lovers in plenty, 
They outnumbered her years 
More than twice, it appears — 

She killed fifty before she was twenty. 
One youngster, Sir Harry, 
Had asked her to marry; 
But Julia could never decide, 
Thus early, on being a bride; 
With such ample choice, 
She would not give her voice, 
In wedlock so soon to be tied; 
And though she liked Hal, thought it 

better to wait, 
Before she would finally fix on her fate; 
For though Harry was u every way 

worthy" to get her, 
Perhaps she might see some one else she 
liked better. 

Hal, discarded by Venus, went over to 

Mars; 
And set off to the war in a troop of hus- 
sars; 
To sabres and bullets exposing a life 
Made wretched to him by the want of a 

wife. 
But Death would not take what fair Julia 

refused; 
And in fact Henry thought himself very 

ill used 
By ''Death and the Lady," — till time's 

precious ointment 
Cured the wound Julia made, 
And the soldier's bold blade 
Soon won him a colonel's appointment; 
And then he went home, by hard service 

made sager, 
And found Julia had married a yellow 

old major. 

For the sake of old times, Harry called 

on the lady, 
Who was now on that side of this life 

they call "shady;" 
Which, though pleasant in streets, in the 

summer's bright sun, 
On life's path is nob pleasant — when 

summer's all done. 
He took her hand kindly — and hoped she 

was well — 




And looked with a tender regret at his 

belle! 
"Ah! Julia! how's this? — I would not 

give you pain, 
But I think I may ask, without being 

thought vain, 
How the girl who refused to let Harry 

encage her, 
Could consent to be trapped by a yellow 

old major?" 
"Come dine here," said she — "and at 

evening we '11 take, 
On horseback a ride through the hazle- 

wood brake; 
And as I've lost my whip — you must go 

to the wood, 
And cut me a riding switch handsome 

and good, — 
Something nice — such a one as I'll keep 

for your sake, 
As a token of friendship; but pray do not 

make 
Your absence too long — for we dine, 

sharp at six; 
But you'll see before then, many beauti- 
ful sticks." 



Harry went on this mission, to rifle the 
riches 

Of the hazel-wood brake — and saw such 
lovely switches, 

But none good enough to present as a 
token, 

To her who "lang syne" had his tender 
heart broken; 

The wood was passed through — and no 
switch yet selected, 

When "six o'clock," suddenly, Hal recol- 
lected, 

And took out his watch: — but ten min- 
utes to spare — 

He employed those ten minutes with 
scrupulous care, 

But spite of his pains — the best switch 
he selected 

Did not equal by much, many first he 
rejected; 

He eyed it askance — and he bent it — 
and shook it — 

And owned, with a shrug, 'twas a leetle 
bit crooked. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




He returned and told Julia the state of 

the case, 
"When she — (a faint smile lighting up a 

sad face) — 
Said, "Harry, your ride through the 

hazel-wood brake 
Is my history — a lesson that many might 

take ; 
At first, you saw beautiful sticks by the 

score, 
And hoped to get better, with such plenty 

more ; 
But at the last moment — no time left to 

pick — 
You were forced to put up with a crooked 

stick." 

woman! — -designed for the conquest of 

hearts, 
To your own native charms add not too 

many arts; 
If a poet's quaint rhyme might dare offer 

advice, 
You should be nice all over — but not 

over-nice. 

1 don't wish a lady so wondrously quick 
As to sharpen her knife for the very first 

stick; 
But — for one good enough — it were best 

not o'erlook it, 
Lest in seeking too straight ones — you 

get but the crooked. 



INCONSTANCY. 

Thou hast forgot thy vow — 
I give thee back its token; 

'Tis but a memory now 
Of pledges lightly broken. 

Farewell! we meet no more; 

And though I now regret thee, 
My grief will soon be o'er; 

I can and will forget thee ! 



AN APPLE. 



'Twas an apple that tempted our mother, 

we know, 
For apples were scarce, I suppose, long 

ago. 




HOW OFT HAVE WE WANDERED. 

How oft have we wandered thro' Lara's 
sweet vale, 
Where thy vows, plighting truth, were 
meant to deceive, 
Oh ! why didst thou breathe so delusive a 
tale? 
Oh! why did poor Kathleen so fondly 
believe? 
'Twas here that at evening together we 
came, 
And then wouldst thou vow that thy 
heart was my throne. 
In vain does thy Kathleen now call on 
thy name, 
'Tis silence that meets me, and I am 
alone, 
Or, if silence be broken, it is by the note 
Of some bird to his mate, that like 
rapture appears, 
While around me the soul-melting melo- 
dies float, 
I answer the music of joy with my 
tears. 
But the winter will come and the birds 
cease to sing, 
And the bleak howling wind sweep the 
leaves from the bough, 
Then, Lara, my woes to thy valley I'll 
bring, 
Deserted and sad, as poor Kathleen is 
now. 



THE KISS. 



Give, me, my love, that billing kiss 
I taught you one delicious night, 

When turning epicures in bliss, 
We tried inventions of delight. 

Come, gently steal my lips along, 

And let your lips in murmurs move — 

Ah, no! — again that kiss was wrong — 
How can you be so dull, my love? 

"Cease, cease!" the blushing girl re- 
plied — 

And in her milk white arms she caught 
me — 

"How can you thus your pupil chide; 
You know 'twas in the dark 
taught me!" 





=» 



'A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE ME, GIRLS. 

Love me, swear to love rue, 

(As you know they do), 
By yon heaven above me, 

And its changeless blue. 
Love me, ladies, dearly, 

If you'll be so good; 
Though I don't see clearly 

On what ground you should. 



A VAIN RESOLUTION. 

In'fair Elfrida's chains I once was bound; 
She proudly with my faithful homage 
bore, 
Then scorned my vows: — but time has 
closed the wound, 
And now, love, I swear to love no 
more! 

Love'in these latter days is lost in art, 
And with the frost of falsehood it is 
hoar; 
It has no charms to fascinate the heart, 
Its better reign is done: — I '11 love no 
more! 

" Say," aslced the little god, " what fears 
affright thee? 
All thy fair fortunes I will soon restore ; 
The graces, three in one, shall now de- 
light thee,"— 
No matter, love, I wish to love no more ! 

Delina, then he set before my eyes, — 

One like the fair ideals known of yore; 
A star she seemed, just fallen from the 
skies : — 
But still I swore that I would love no 
more! 

At her fair side the rose would lose its 
smile, 
And pale would burn the beacon on the 
shore; 
Full many a heart her charms may well 
beguile, 
But never mine: — for I will love no 
more! 




She walks, — and, springing up to kiss her 
feet, 
The flowerets seem to me from earth 
to soar; 
She sings, with voice most musically 
sweet: — ■ 
Still, still I swear that I will love no 
more! 

Many the lovers who their homage 
bring; 
Her conquests I would surely not de- 
plore, — 
Nay, her fair praises I would gladly sing: 
I give my verse, — but I will love no 
more! 

" Join her gay train," the blind boy softly 
cried, 
"Nor weakly fear her beauty to adore; 
If in its light thy heart is truly tried, 
Thou canst renew thy vow to love no 



more 



Strange as it seems, I heeded not the wile 
By which I had been led away before, 

Nor even marked love's bright bewildered 
smile, 
As once again I swore to love no more ! 

In my lost heart there rises every hour 
A purer flame than that which burned 
of yore; 
Delina, thou hast taught me all love's 
power: 
To see thee, is to love thee evermore! 



A WINTER IDYL. 

Stormy day, in chill December, 

Icy pavement, I remember, 

Pretty maiden, gliding past 

Office window, holding fast 

To umbrella — market basket, 

Flying skirts! What a task it 

Was to look away from those 

Neatly fitting striped hose. 

Yet believe me that I did it, 

Circumstances did forbid it, 

For beyond her lay a nice 

Lassie, spreading, on the ice: 

And her hose were much more striped, 

Than those worn by t 'other biped 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



a 

255 



1 



HARD THINGS TO DO. 

I know many hard things to do: 

'Tis hard, when you're wronged to say 
thankee, 

'Tis hard to bamboozle a Jew — 
But very much harder a Yankee. 

A lady's a hard thing to follow — 
Coquettish and full of vagaries, 

Who feeds you with snubs, hard to 
swallow, 
And acts by the rule of contraries. 

And hard 'tis to take up your bills 

Without money; and hard to get credit 

Where your failure the newspaper fills, 
And all your acquaintance have read it. 

Of all things we know, great or small, 
In sea or in air, hill or hollow, 

On this our terrestrial ball, 

Good advice is the hardest to follow. 



LEONA. 



Lions and tigers shall make peace 

With lambs, and play together, 
Sands shall be counted, and deep seas 

Grow dry in rainy weather, 
Ere fortune shall the influence have 

To make my soul resign 
Its bliss, and call itself the slave 

Of any charms but thine. 



FAREWELL. 




Farewell! we have not often met — 
We may not meet again! 

But on my heart the seal is set, 
Love never sets in vain! 

Fruitless as constancy may be, 

No chance, no change, may turn from 
thee 

One who has loved thee wildly, well — 

But whose first love-vow breathed fare- 
well. 



STORY OF A MUFF. 

She 's jealous ! Am I sorry ? No ! 
I like to see my Mabel so, 

Carina mia! 
Poor puss! that now and then she draws 
Conclusions not without a cause, 

Is my idea. 

We love; and I'm prepared to prove 
That jealousy is kin to love 

In constant women. 
My jealous pussy cut up rough 
The day before I bought her muff 

With sable trimming. 

These tearful darlings think to quell us 
By being so divinely jealous; 

But I know better. 
Hillo! Who's that? A damsel! Come, 
I'll follow: no I can't, for some 

One else has met her. 

What fun! he looks " a lad of grace." 
She holds her muff to hide her face; 

They kiss, — the sly puss ! 
Hillo! Her muff, — it's trimmed with 

sable ! 
It 's like the muff I gave to Mabel ! 

Good L-o-r-d! she's my puss! 



I WONT BELIEVE IT. 

That much a widowed wife will moan 
When her dear husband's dead and gone, 

I may conceive it: 
But that she wont be brisk and gay, 
If another offer the next day, 

I wont believe it. 

That Chloris will repeat to me, 
"Of all men, I adore but thee," 

I may conceive it: 
But that she has not often sent 
To fifty more the compliment, 

I wont believe it. 

That a kind husband to his wife 
Permits each pleasure of this life, 

I may conceive it: 
But that the man so blind should be 
As not to see what all else see, 

1 wont believe it. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




JORASSE. A VISION. 



Jorasse was in his three-and-twentieth 
year; 

Graceful and active as a stag just roused; 

Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech, 

Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown 
up 

Among the hunters of the higher Alps; 

Had caught their starts and fits of 
though tfulness, 

Their haggard looks and strange solilo- 
quies. 



Once, nor long before, 
Alone at daybreak on the Mettenberg, 
He slipped, he fell, and, through a fear- 
ful cleft 
Gliding from ledge to ledge, from deep to 

deeper, 
Went to the under-world ! Long while he 

lay 
Upon his rugged bed, — then walked like 

one 
Wishing to sleep again and sleep forever! 
For, looking round, he saw, or thought 

he saw, 
Innumerable branches of a cavern, 
Winding beneath a solid crust of ice, 
With here and there a rent that showed 

the stars! 
What then, alas, was left him but to die? 
What else in those innumerable chambers, 
Strewn with the bones of miserable men, 
Lost like himself? yet must he wander 

on, 
Till cold and hunger set his spirit free! 
And, rising, he began his weary round; 
When hark, the noise as of some mighty 

river 
Working its way to light ! Back he with- 
drew, 
But soon returned, and, fearless from 

despair, 
Dashed down the dismal channel; and all 

day, 
If day could be where utter darkness was, 
Traveled incessantly, the craggy roof 
Just overhead, and the impetuous waves, 
Nor broad, nor deep, yet with a giant's 
strength, 




Lashing on him. At last the water slept 
In a dead lake, — at the third step he 

took, 
Unfathomable, — and the roof, that long 
Had threatened, suddenly descending, lay 
Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, 
His journey ended, when a ray divine 
Shot through his soul. Breathing a 

prayer to her 
Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed 

Virgin, 
He plunged, he swam, — and in an instant 

rose, 
The barrier past, in light, in sunshine! 
Through a smiling valley full of cottages, 
Glittering the river ran: and on the bank 
The young were dancing ('t was a festival 

d ' dJ \ 
All in their best attire. Then first he 

saw 

His Madeline. In the crowd she stood to 
hear, 

When all drew round inquiring, and in 
her face, 

Seen behind all, and varying, as he spoke, 

With hope and fear and generous sym- 
pathy, 

Subdued him. From that very hour he 
loved. 



A MESSAGE. 



Were not thy spirit purified to look 
Through all things beautiful to God 
and heaven, 
These gentle readings from love's holy 
book 

Had not been given. 

Were thine eyes sealed to those sweet 
lessons, taught 
In the dim oracles of leaf and tree, 
I had not made them messengers of 
thought, 

Dear friend, to thee. 

But take them now, for they will talk to 
thee 
In the sweet accents of poetic lore; 
Heed their soft pleadings — kindly think 
of me — 

I ask no more. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




GODIVA. 

Not only we, the latest seed of Time, 
New men, that in the flying of a wheel 
Cry down the past; not only we, that 

prate 
Of rights and wrongs, have loved the 

people well, 
And loathed to see them overtaxed; but 

she 
Did more, and underwent, and overcame, 
The woman of a thousand summers 

back. 
Godiva, wife to that grim earl who ruled 
In Coventry: for when he laid a tax 
Upon the town, and all the mothers 

brought 
Their children, clamoring, " If we pay, 

we starve!" 
She sought her lord, and found him 

where he strode 
About the hall, among his dogs, alone. 
His beard, a foot before him, and his 

hair 
A yard behind. She told him of their 

tears, 
And prayed him, " If they pay this tax, 

they starve." 
Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, 
"You would not let your little finger 

ache 
For such as these ! " " But I would die," 

said she. 
He laughed, and swore by Peter and by 

Paul: 
Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 
" 0, ay, ay, ay, you talk !" — " Alas ! " she 

said, 
" But prove me what it is I would not 

do." 
And from a heart as rough as Esau's 

hand, 
He answered, " Ride you naked through 

the town, 
And I repeal it;" and nodding as in 

scorn, 
He parted, with great strides among his 

dogs. 
So left alone, the passions of her mind 
Made war upon each other for an hour, 
pity won. She sent a herald forth, 




And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, 

all 
The hard condition; but that she would 

loose 
The people! therefore, as they loved her 

well, 
From then till noon no foot should pace 

the street, 
No eye look down, she passing; but that 

all- 
Should keep within, door shut and win- 
dow barred. 
Then fled she to her inmost bower, and 

there 
Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, 
The grim earl's gift; but ever at a breath 
She lingered, looking like a summer 

moon 
Half dipped in cloud: anon she shook 

her head, 
And showered the rippled ringlets to her 

knee; 
Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair 
Stole on: and, like a creeping sunbeam, 

slid 
From pillar unto pillar, until she reached 
The gateway; there she found her palfrey 

trampt 
In purple blazoned with armorial gold. 
Then she rode forth, clothed on with 

chastity: 
The deep air listened round her as she 

rode, 
And all the low wind hardly breathed for 

fear. 
The little wide-mouthed heads upon the 

spout 
Had cunning eyes to see: the barking 

cur 
Made her cheek flame: her palfrey's foot- 
fall shot 
Light horrors through her pulses: the 

blind walls 
Were full of chinks and holes; and over- 
head 
Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but 

she 
Not less through all bore up till, last, 

she saw 
The white-flowered elder-thicket from 

the field 




•t&p 



A HOOK OF POEMS 




Gleam through the Gothic archways in 
the wall. 

Then she rode back, clothed on with 
chastity: 

And one low churl, compact of thankless 
earth, 

The fatal byword of all years to come, 

Boring a little auger-hole in fear, 

Peeped — but his eyes, before they had 
their will, 

Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, 

And dropped before him. So the powers 
who wait 

On noble deeds, cancelled a sense mis- 
used; 

And she, that knew not, passed: and all 
at once, 

With twelve great shocks of sound, the 
shameless noon 

Was clashed and hammered from a hun- 
dred towers, 

One after one: but even then she gained 

Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed 
and crowned, 

To meet her lord, she took the tax away, 

And built herself an everlasting name. 



INCONSTANCY. 

Thou art not what thou wert; 

Farewell, and may God bless thee! 
My heart with strength is girt 

Once more to say, God bless thee. 

Thou hast forgot thy vow — 
I give thee back its token; 

'T is but a memory now 
Of pledges lightly broken. 

Farewell! we meet no more! 

And though I now regret thee, 
My grief will soon be o'er; 

I can, and will forget thee. 



A SMART GAL. 

She took the oil with which her hair was 

curled 
To grease the hub round which revolves 

the world. 



TO MY ABSENT SON, FRANK. 



I know they have pleaded, the friends 
that are round thee; 
I know they have warned thee, en- 
treated and wept; 
They have shown thee the guile in the 
spell that hath bound thee, 
And the serpent whose coils round thy 
spirit have crept. 

Yet still the grim cavern yawns wide to 
receive thee, 
And now while no terrors thy spirit 
oppress, 
I urge this last prayer, not to frighten 
or grieve thee, 
Oh, no! but to save thee, redeem thee, 
and bless. 

I pray thee, beseech thee, if e'er thou hast 
loved me, 
By all our past trials, and sorrows, and 
tears, 
By all the caprices with which thou hast 
proved me, 
Return to the home of thine earlier 
years. 



HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

" Oh, kiss me once before I go, 
To make amends for sorrow; 

Oh, kiss me once before we part, 
Who shall not meet to-morrow. 

" And I was wrong to urge your will, 
And wroDg to mar your life; 

But kiss me once before we part, 
Because you are my wife." 

She turned her head, and tossed her head, 

And wrinkled up her brow: 
" I never kissed you yet," she said, 
"And I'll not kiss you now. 

"Though I'm your wife by might and 
right, 
And forsworn marriage vow, 
I never loved you yet," said she, 
" And I do n't love you now." 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO VIERNA. 

When time was entwining the garland of 
years, 
Which to crown my beloved was given, 
Though some of the leaves might be sul- 
lied with tears, 
Yet the flowers were all gathered in 
heaven. 

And long may this garland be sweet to 
the eye, 
May its verdure forever be new; 
Young love shall enrich it with many a 
sigh, 
And sympathy nurse it with dew. 



MY EVIL STAR. 

It was my evil star above, 

Not my sweet lute, that wrought me 
wrong; 
It was not song that taught jne love, 

But it was love that taught me song. 



SOME MORTALS THERE MAY BE. 

Some mortals there may be so wise, or so 
fine 
As in evenings like this no enjoyment 
to see: 
But as I 'm not particular — wit, love, 
and wine, 
Are for one night's amusement suffi- 
cient for me. 
Nay — humble and strange as my tastes 
may appear — 
If driven to the worst, I could manage, 
thank heaven, 
To put up with eyes such as beam round 
me here, 
And such wine as we 're sipping, six 
days out of seven. 
So pledge me a bumper — your sages pro- 
found 
May be blest, if they will, on their own 
patent plan, 
But as we 're not sages, why — send the 
cup round — 
We must live and be happy the best 
way we can. 




A reward by some king was once offered, 
we 're told, 
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss 
for mankind; 
But talk of new pleasures! — give me but 
the old, 
And I '11 leave your inventors all the 
new ones they find. 
Or if should I in quest of some fresh 
realm of bliss, 
Set sail in the pinnace of fancy some 
day, 
Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this, 
And such eyes as we 've here be the 
stars of my way ; 
In the meantime, a bumper — your angels 
on high, 
May have pleasures unknown to life's 
limited span; 
But as we are not angels, why, — let the 
flask fly — 
We must be truly happy all ways that 
we can. 



FAVORS. 



Scatter favors on a fop, 
Ingratitude's the certain crop. 

If much I do give unto thee, 
Much more will be required of me. 

Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 
Some women have no characters at all: 

And yet believe me, good as well as ill, 
Woman's at best a contradiction still. 

Men, some to business, some to pleasure 

take; 
But every woman is at heart a rake. 

For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; 
No thougbt of peace or happiness at 
home. 

Men, some to quiet, some to public strife, 
But every woman would be queen for 
life. 

Yet mark the fate of a whole sex of 

queens ! 
Power all their end but beauty all the 

means. 





A HOOK OF POEMS 




REMEMBER ME. 

When shadows o'er the earth are creep- 
ing 
And stars peep from the skies, 
When birdlings in their nests are sleep- 
ing 
And nature slumbering lies, 
And when the midnight moon is shining 

Across the tranquil sea, 
0, thou for whom my soul is pining, 
Remember me! 

And when the rosy morn is coming 

Above the eastern hills, 
And blithe birds sing and bees are hum- 
ming, 
And nature's great heart thrills; 
When all the happy world is waking 

To glad activity, 
0, thou for whom my heart is breaking, 
Remember me! 

And through the daylight's changing 
hours, 
The quiet rest at noon, 
When lengthening shadows warn the 
flowers 
They must be closing soon; 
And when the golden sun is setting 

Into the western sea, 
Thou, whom my heart is still regretting, 
Remember me! 

At morning, midnight, noon or even, 

At every time or place, 
When winter's icy blasts are driven, 

In spring-time's budding grace; 
When summer decks the world with 
beauty, 
When dead leaves strew the lea, 
Thou, whose least vrish is still my duty, 
Remember me ! 

In happiness or sorrow ever, 

In joy, or grief, or pain, 
Know that my love will leave thee never, 

And that I'll come again; 
When thou shalt fold thy white hands 
saying, 
Protect those on the sea, 
0, most of all, when thou art praying. 
Remember me! 




WHILE MAKING LOVE TO MARY. 

While making love to Mary, 

So fast the moments flew, 
Some thought seemed always left unsaid 

At each soft interview; 
Yet tender looks supplied the place 

Of every thought unspoken, 
So sweet the spell that o'er us fell, 

By soft sighs only broken. 

While making love to Mary, 

No matter when or where — 
By parlor fire, at country ball, 

Or in the open air — 
Of every golden moment still, 

As a miser I was chary, 
Lest I should miss a sigh or kiss 

While making love to Mary. 

There was no joy of courtship 

That was to us unknown — 
I Avas a love-crowned king, and she 

A queen, upon love's throne; 
Whate'er the dress or flower she 'd wear, 

Whate'er she 'd do or utter, 
Seemed only meant with soft intent, 

To set me in a flutter. 

And now, a twelve-month married, 

As powerful is her art 
As when anticipation's charm 

Entranced my longing heart; 
The sweet unconscious art of love 

That time's flight cannot vary — 
With the same mind myself I find 

Still making love to Mary. 



HEARTLESSNESS. 

Yes, thou canst smile, and be as gay 
As though no heart thy guile had 
broken; 

While every step along my way 

Brings up of thee some painful token. 

Thou breathest in a dozen ears 

The same fond words once breathed to 
me; 
While I, alas! in secret tears, 

Can only think and dream of thee 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




CONTENTMENT. 

"My little world is very small, 
Scarce worth your notice, sir, at all," 

The mother said. 
"My good, kind husband, as you see, 
And those three children at my knee, 
Who look to us so trustingly 

For daily bread: 

"For their sweet sakes, who love me so, 5 
I keep the fire-light in a glow 

In our dear home, 
That though the tempest roar outside, 
And fiercely threaten far and wide, 
The cheery blaze may serve to guide 

Dear feet that roam. 

"And as the merry kettle boils, 
We welcome him who daily toils 

For us each day, 
Of true-love kisses full a score 
He gets, I 'm certain, if not more, 
When fond ones meet him at the door, 

At twilight gray. 

" One gets the slippers for his feet, 
Another leads him to his chair — 

The big arm-chair — 
And while the children round him sing, 
And make the dear old rafters ring, 
One little daughter crowns him king, 

With blossoms fair. 

"Ah, sir, we are not rich or great, 
The owners of a vast estate," 

The mother said; 
"But we have better far than gold 
Contentment, and a little fold 
As full of love as it can hold, 

With daily bread." 



I'LL ADORE THEE. 

In the shade of my cot I'll adore thee 

afar, 
For a worm on the earth may look up at 

a star. 




WE SHALL HAVE OUR MOON- 
LIGHT YET. 

Tho' days are gone when you and I 

First wore the links of pleasure's 
chain — 
Tho' youthful joys are all gone by, 

We nevermore shall see again — 
Yet in those eyes, oft dimm'd with tears, 

For me both light and love remain, 
To make unfelt the blight of years — 

To bid this heart be young again. 

The morn is o'er, the day is past, 

The evening closes round us now; 
Long shadows o'er the vale are cast, 

But light still gilds the- mountain's 
brow; 
And when at last the sun goes down, 

And ev'ry ling'ring ray hath set, 
The night assumes her silver crown — 

And we shall have our moonlight yet. 



MODERN WEDDING CEREMONY. 

"Wilt thou take this brown stone house, 

This cluster pin, this diamond, 
To be the husband of thy choice, 

And live in the bonds of Hymen? 
And wilt thou leave thy friends and home 

To be his loving wife, 
And try to spend his large income 

So long as thou hast life?" 
" I will," the honest maid replies, 
The whole truth beaming in her eyes. 

"And wilt thou take this maiden fair, 

And all her haughty pride, 
With all her unpaid bonnet bills, 

To be thy beauteous bride? 
And wilt thou love and enrich her 

Whilst thou hast land and pelf, 
And die when she is tired of you, 

And leave her all your wealth?" 
"I will," the anxious man replies, 
And takes his bride with open eyes. 

"Then I pronounce you man and wife; 
Now go and live a happy life." 



w 



ft. 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



26 



f 



CAN YOU EVER FORGET? 

Oh, don't you remember, from morning 
till evening, 
How oft we have roved through the 
wild mountain glen, 
And sighed as we said, when the time 
came for leaving, 
The day was too short — though 't was 
midsummer then? 
If it rained, we complained not — we 
thought not of weather, 
Tho' the path was of weeds and with 
briers o'ergrown, 
'Twas so sweet and so short when we 
walked it together — 
'Twas so long, ah! so long when re- 
turning alone. 
Oh, don't you remember how thus 'twas 

we met? — 
Or rather, I'll say — can you ever forget? 

And do n't you remember at each festive 
season 
That Christmas or Easter so merrily 
bring, 
To sit near each other we always found 
reason, 
When playing at forfeits, all join'd the 
gay ring? 
And when you drew the prizes you man- 
aged that my one 
Should be quite the best from the gay 
Christmas tree; 
And if blind-man's-buff was the game — 
oh, you sly one! — 
You know very well that you always 
caught me. 
Oh, don't you remember how thus 'twas 

we met? — 
Or rather, I '11 say — can you ever forget? 



METHINKS. 



Methinks that I should ne'er repine 
If 1 had but one vow of thine. 




BASHFULNESS. 

How many things we would confess, 
If not for foolish bashfulness. 



THE FLIRT. 

They say I 'm a desperate flirt, 

A gay and a festive young man; 
I admit it, and boldly assert 

I will have all the pleasure I can; 
I admire pretty faces and feet, 

And whenever chance leads me to roam, 
If a sweet pretty girl I should meet, 

I insist upon seeing her home. 

One night I was had for a mark, 

And felt just a little bit small, 
'T was a girl I met in the park, 

A beautiful figure so tall; 
She allowed me to stand her champagne, 

And pay for a cab to her door, 
Then advised me to run home again, 

As sbe didn't want anything more, j 



THE LAST WOMAN. 

Have you never heard the story of the 
very last man, that remnant of 
creation ? 

A state of single blessedness suggesting 
to me the most agreeable contem- 
plation; 

For I have no spite against the men my- 
self, or I might say, [indeed, I 
heartily wish them well; 

But as for the women, I would n't much 
care if the devil had them all with 
his ding-dong bell. 



GIVE ME A COT. 

Give me a cot in the valley I love, 

A tent in the greenwood, a home in [the 

grove; 
I care not how humble, for happy 't would 

be, 
If one faithful heart will but share it 

with me. 



OFT HAVE I BLUSHED. 

Oft have 1 blushed from ear to ear with 

shame, 
That e'er I told a secret to my dame 






a^ 



264 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




BLIND LOVE. 

me! what eyes hath love put in my 
head 
Which have no correspondence with 
true sight? 
Or" if they have, where has my judgment 
fled 
That censures falsely what they see 
aright ? 

If that he fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
What means the world to say it is not 
so? 
If it be not, then love doth well denote 
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: 
No. 

How can it? how can love's eye be 

true, 
That is so vex'd with watching and 

with tears? 
No_ marvel then though I mistake my 

view: 
The sun itself sees not till- heaven 

clears. 
cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st 

me blind, 
Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults 

should find. 



CELIA. 



V 



Not, Celia, that I juster am 

Or better than the rest, 
For I would change each hour like them, 

Were not my heart at rest. 

But I am tied to very thee 

By every thought I have; 
Thy face I only care to see, 

Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self I find — 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome and the kind. 

Why then should I seek further store, 

And still make love anew? 
When change itself can give no more, 

'Tis easy to be true. 



INCONSTANCY. 

And do I then wonder that Julia deceives 
me, 
Wben surely there's nothing in nature 
more common? 
She vows to be true, and while vowing 
she leaves me — 
And could I expect any more from a 
woman? 

Oh, woman! your heart is a pitiful treas- 
ure; 
And Mahomet's doctrine was not too 
severe, 
When he held that you were but materials 
of pleasure, 
And reason and thinking were out of 
your sphere. 

But your heart, when the fond sighing 
lover can win it, 
He thinks that an age of anxiety's 
paid; 
But oh, while he 's blest, let him die at 
the minute, 
If he live but a day he '11 be surely be- 
trayed. 



TOO LATE. 



You need not gaze on me so tenderly, 

Your day is done! 
I loved you from my heart despairingly 

Ere you begun! 
E'en while you met me with averted face 

And I did weep, 
That unrequited love could lacerate 

And sting so deep. 

Withdraw your gaze; take back your 
tardy love, 

'T is useless here; 
I could not mine recall tho' I should 
strive 

With many a tear! 
" I loved not wisely but too well," while 
you 

Did coldly wait 
Till my love, feeding on itself, burned 
out; 

Now 't is too late. 





A B.O.OK OF I'OEMS 




265 



SMILE ON ME STILL. 



Tne rose needs not the summer light, 



The bird needs not the sheltering^tree, 
So much as I in sorrow's night, 
Need smiles from thee. 

Oh, never let thine eye grow cold, 

Thy cherished voice grow rude to me; 
But let thine eye, as oft of old, 
Still smile on me. 



HER GIFT. 



With crystal feet and laughter low, 

Like ripple of the summer rills, 
The silver spirit of the rain 

Came down between the evening hills. 
We heard it patter on the leaves; 

It seemed to murmur to my ears 
A mournful melody of love 

That ended in a burst of tears. 

A manly form was at my side — 

Such men the ancient poets sing — 
So brave and tall ! Ah, well they knew — 

Who named him for the blameless king. 
The blood of heroes flush'd his brow; 

His words were courtly, kind, and wise, 
What wonder that I felt the spell 

That lurked in dark and dreaming eyes ? 

I wore a bud of glowing hue, 

Rich-tinted like the crimson west, 
He asked the favor of the flower; 

I fastened it upon his breast. 
His head was bent above my own; 

Our glances met, and — ■ breathe it 
low — 
I gave together with the rose, 

My heart; but he must never know! 

His home is far across the seas, 

'T is haunted by an hundred earls, 
And pictured ladies from its walls 

Look down in pride of silk and pearls. 
There soon, beside a fairer maid, 

With lips that laugh and eyes that 
shine, 
He will forget these golden hours, 

The roses's glowing heart and mine. 




But ever still when falls the rain, 

And ever at the twilight tide, 
I '11 turn my head and think to see 

His dark eyes beaming at my side. 
And if the way he walks is bright, 

Or if a shadowed path he goes, 
Yet one fond heart will follow him — 

The heart of her who gave the rose! 



FORGIVEN. 



In days to come, should thoughts of me 

Across thy tranquil memory rise, 
Like foam upon a summer sea, 

Or clouds that float in azure skies, 
Think not of me as left to mourn 

The blighted hopes of early years: 
Think not of me as one forlorn, 

A Niobe of sighs and tears. 

The past I may not quite forget, 

But though it brings a thrill of pain, 
I think of thee without regret, 

But with a smile of sweet disdain. 
For perjured lips are naught to me, 

Nor vows those perjured lips have 
sworn, 
Nor hearts that throb with perfidy, 

Unworthy e'en of righteous scorn. 

And yet I sometimes dream of thee, 

When stars have lit the tranquil skies, 
And peaceful memoi'ies come to me 

As thoughts of happier days arise. 
But dreams like this bring heaven 
near, 

I feel resentment may not last; 
And kind forgiveness claims one tear, 

Memorial of the hallowed past. 



so 



CHANGE. 



Have we not loved so fondly that to 

change, 
Were most impossible, most wild, most 

strange. 




266 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




'T IS THE LAST ROSE OP SUMMER. 

'T is the last rose of summer, 

Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone; 
No flower of her kindred, 

No rosebud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

Or give sigh for sigh. 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one, 

To pine on the stem, 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may I follow, 

When friendships decay; 
And from love's shining circle 

The gems drop away. 
When true hearts lie withered, 

And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO ALL GOOD 

LASSES. 

Here 's a health to all good lasses, 
Pledge it merrily, fill your glasses; 

Let the bumper toast go round. 
May they live a life of pleasure, 
Without mixture, without measure, 

For with them true joys are found. 



COURTING. 




The time when first we plighted vows, 
and made our courting right, 

I really felt, indeed, what 's termed a feel- 
ing of delight, 

And as I kissed and cuddled her, behind 
the kitchen door, 

I felt a sort of feeling that I never felt 
before. 



TENDER AND PLEASANT 
THOUGHTS. 

I have sweet thoughts of thee! 
They come around me like the voice of 

song; 
They come like birds that to the South 

belong, 
And wear a gayer wing, and brighter 

crest, 
Than those that on the roof-tree build 

the nest; 
They come more tender, beautiful, and 

bright, 
Than any thoughts that others can ex- 
cite; 
They tell me gentle tales of thee and 

thine, 
Of gems of truth that in thy spirit shine, 
Of goodness, purity, and holy zeal, 
That can for others earnest pity feel; 
Of all things beautiful in soul and heart, 
And such they tell me, dearest, that thou 

art. 



IF 'T IS LOVE TO WISH YOU 
NEAR. 

If 'tis love to wish you near, 

To tremble when the wind I hear, 

Because at sea you floating rove; 
If of you to dream at night. 
To languish when you 're out of sight, — 

If this be loviug — then I love. 

If when you 're gone, to count each hour, 
To ask of every tender power, 

That you may kind and faithful prove; 
If void of falsehood and deceit, 
I feel a pleasure when we meet, — 

If this be loving — then I love. 



TO MAUD ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

Oh, be thou bless'd with all that heaven 

can send, 
Long health, long youth, long pleasure, 

and a friend. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



267 




MAN MAY BEAR. 

Oh, man may bear with suffering! His 

heart 
Is a strong thing, and God-like in the 

grasp 
Of pain that wrings mortality; but tear 
One chord affection clings to, part one tie 
That binds him unto woman's delicate 

love, 
And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed. 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

In Manchester a maiden dwelt, 

Her name was Phoebe Brown. 
Her cheeks were red, her hair was black, 
And she was considered by good judges 
to be by all odds the best looking 
girl in town. 

Her age was nearly seventeen, 

Her eyes were sparkling bright; 
A very lovely girl she was, 

And for a year there had been a good- 
looking young man paying atten- 
tion to her by the name of Reuben 
White. 

Now Reuben was a nice young man, 

As any in the town; 
And Phoebe loved him very dear, 

But on account of his having to work 
for a living, he never could make 
himself agreeable to Mr. and Mrs. 
Brown. 

Her parents were resolved 

Another she should wed — 
A rich old miner in the place, 

And old Brown f recmently declared that 
rather than have his daughter 
marry Reuben White he 'd knock 
him on the head. 

But Phoebe's heart was brave and strong; 

She feared no parent's frowns; 
And as for Reuben White, so bold, 
I 've heard him say more than fifty 
times that with the exception of 
Phcebe he did n't care a cent for 
the whole race of Browns. 



Now Phcebe Brown and Reuben White 

Determined they would marry; 
Three weeks ago last Tuesday night 
They started for old Parson Webster's 
with the fixed determination to be 
united in the holy bonds of 'matri- 
mony; and they were married, 
though it was tremendous dark, 
and rained like the very old Harry. 



LOVE IN ABSENCE. 

Oh, my dear, peerless wife! 
By the blue sky and all its crowding stars, 
I love you better — oh, far better than 
Woman was ever loved. There 's not'an 

hour 
Of day or dreaming night but I am with 

thee: 
There 's not a wind but whispers of thy 

name, 
And not a flower that sleeps beneath the 

moon, 
But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale 
Of thee, my love, to my fond, anxious 

heart. 



YIELDING TO TEMPTATION. 

You may pout and look prettily cross; 
but, I pray, 
What business so near to my lips had 
your cheek? 
If you will put temptation so pat in one's 
way, 
Saints, resist if you can; but I am too 
weak. 



MARRY FOR LOVE. 

Young folks must marry but for love, not 

hanker after wealth; 
Grass widows that have been divorced, be 

laid upon the shelf, 
The youth who kisses and does tell, be 

buried out of sight, 
Old maids to death be squeezed by lacing 

themselves too tight. 





268 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




SWEET JESSIE. * 

Sweet Jessie was young and simple, 

And mirth beamed in her eye, 
And her smile made a rosy dimple 

Where love might wish to lie; 
But when lovers were sighing after, 

And vowed she was matchless fair, 
Her silver-sounding laughter, 

Said, love had not been there. 



A CONUNDRUM. 

From whence the spirit? Who at birth 
Gives immortal man immortal worth? 
Does he from Mother Nature gain 
The soul immortal? Please explain. 
Yet it 's a curious thing in life — 
For she had never been a wife, 
And when she bore that healthy heir, 
In form and features sound and fair, 
Her pious neighbors raised a din 
Of censure, and chastised her sin 
In language bitter as the case, 
And marvelled how she fell from grace; 
And when devout, would even pray 
That God would take the child away, 
And from his ever bounteous store 
Forgive her that she sin no more. 

Such cases are what makes life seem 
A curious thing, — so like a dream, — 
For who, of all the gods above, 
Could honor this illicit love, 
And give a soul of endless worth 
To one of such unhallowed birth? 
And yet that child, conceived in sin, 
Possessed a proper soul within, 
And seemed as competent to stay 
As children born the proper way. 

One of two answers must be true, 
Which, I know not, — perhaps you do, — 
And first, the gods, somewhere in space 
Create more souls than have a place 
To dwell. And, when o'erstocked, to 

move 
Such mortals to illicit love, — 
Ignoring thus the moral laws 
That heaven may gain increased applause, 
E'en gods have deemed it not amiss 
To first be known through births like 
this. 




Hence the injunction from on high, 
"Go forth"— "Be fruitful "—" multi- 
ply," 
And let none in the tribe be found 
To onanize the fertile ground. 
If gods create the souls, they should 
Be perfect, and in all things good — 
For nothing vile should emanate 
From what the heavenly powers create. 

Accepting this, it seems unfair 
That souls should be compelled to share 
Temptations that to men are given, 
And miss their journey back to heaven; 
Or with some wicked dust to dwell 
And finally reside in hell. 
" The wise and strong the weak con- 
trol;— 
The man is governed by his soul, 
And should not be adjudged for deeds 
Which from his stronger soul proceeds. 

But if he must account fur sin 
Dictated by the soul within, 
'T would be but just to let him choose 
A spirit that would not abuse 
His human clay, nor bring disgrace 
Upon his family and race. 
If this be wrong, then, man controls 
The number of immortal souls, 
And heaven and hell must, at their gates, 
Select from souls that man creates; 
Who having left their human clay, 
May not elect to go that way. 

For how came heaven or hell to have 
A claim on what they never gave? 
Or by what right should they be praised 
By souls that other people raised ? 

***** 

And thus the question still remains 
To worry thought and rack our brains, 
And never, never reach that goal 
To know the author of the soul. 



JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 

I wept and blessed thee, called thee o'er 

and o'er 
By that dear name which I must use no 

more; 
And kissed with passionate lips the empty 

air, 
As if thy image stood before me there. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



269 




A RAINY DAY. 

It rains. What lady loves a rainy day? 
Not she who puts prunella on her foot, 
Zephyrs around her neck, and silken socks 
Upon a graceful ankle — nor yet she 
Who sports her tassel'd parasol along 
The walks heau-crowded on some sunny 

noon, 
Or trips in muslin, in a winter's night 
On a cold sleigh-ride, to a distant hall. 

She loves a rainy day who sweeps the 

hearth, 
And threads the busy needle, or applies 
The scissors to the torn or thread-bare 

sleeve; 
Who blesses God that she has friends and 

home: 
Who in the pelting of the storm will 

think 
Of some poor neighbor that she can be- 
friend; 
Who trims the lamp at night and reads 

aloud 
To a young brother tales he loves to hear, 
Or ventures cheerfully abroad, to watch 
The bedside of some sick or suffering 

friend, 
Administering that best of medicine, 
Kindness and tender care and cheering 

hope. 

Such are not sad e'en on a rainy day. 



YOUNG PARIS. THE VOW. 

Young Paris was the shepherd's pride, 
As well the fair Enone knew; 

They sat the mountain's stream beside, 
And o'er the bank a poplar grew. 

Upon its bark this verse he traced, — 
"Bear witness to the vow I make; 

Thou, Xanthns, to thy source shall haste, 
Ere I my matchless maid forsake. 

"No prince or peasant lad am I, 

Nor crown nor crook to thee belong; 

But 1 will love thee till I die, 
And die before I do thee wrong." 




SONNET TO 



She was a lovely one — her shape was 
light 
And delicately flexible — her eye 
Might have heen black, or blue — but it 
was bright, 
Though beaming not on everyfpasser- 

'Twas very modest and a little shy. 

The eyelash seemed to shade the very 

cheek, 
That had the color of a sunset sky, 
Not rosy — but a soft and heavenly streak 
For which the arm might strike — the 

heart might break — 

And a soft, gentle voice; that kindly 

sweet 
Accosted one she chanced to overtake, 
While walking slowly on her Iambic feet, 
In tones that fell as soft as heaven's own 

dew. 
Who was it? Dear young lady, was it 

you? 



THE NOSEGAY. 

I'll pull a bunch of buds and flowers,. 
And. tie a ribbon round them, 

If you '11 but think in lonely hours 
Of the sweet girl that bound them. 

I'll cull the earliest that put forth, 
And those that last the longest; 

And the bud that boasts the fairest birth, 
Shall cling to the stem that 's strongest. 

I've run about the garden walks, 

And searched among the dew, sir; — " 

These fragrant flowers, these 1 ] tender 
stalks, 
I've plucked them all for you, sir. 

So here 's your bunch of buds and flowers, 
And here's your ribbon round them; 

And here, to cheer your sadden'd hours, 
Is the sweet girl that bound them 





^ 



270 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



THE RING YOU WEAR. 

" Give me, 11 said Lubiu to his fair, 

To whom he would be more than 
friend; 

" Give me the little ring you wear, 
'Tjis like my love — it has no end." 

"Excuse me, sir; no longer sue, 

My love you have no chance of win- 
ning, 

This ring is like my love for you — 
For surely, it has no beginning." 



SARAH, DEAR. 

When first^I saw thee, Sarah, dear, 
I^loved^thee for thy gentle graces; 

An eye so bright that knew no tear — 
Thine was the fairest of earth's faces. 

Thy roundedjjform that lightly flew 
With joyous gladness through the 
dances; 

Full plainly proved no grief ye knew, 
Joy only sparkled in thy glances. 

'T was thus, at first, thou won'st my heart, 
,:~* Since! thou alone couldst give me 

pleasure, 
I vowed^from thee no more I 'd part, 
But win and hold thee, my chief treas- 
ure. 



WHAT WIN I? 

What" win I if I gain the thing I seek — 
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting 

joy; 
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a 
week? 
Or sells eternity to get a toy? 



I NEVER GIVE A KISS. 

" I never'give a kiss," says Prue, 
" To naughty man, for I abhor it! " 
She will not give a kiss 't is true, 

She '11 take one, though, and thank 
you for it. 




HAD WE BUT MET. 

Had we but met in other years, 

When heart and hand were free; 
Before the river of our lives, 

Had flowed into the sea, 
Ah ! then might all our secret hopes, 

That fill our hearts to-day, 
Been realized in blissful joy — 

And none would dare say nay. 

How strange we met, not till too late, 

Our lives were severed wide, 
How strange that cruel, hapless fate, 

Should loving hearts divide; 
And stranger still, when bounds were set 

'Cross which we could not pass, 
That we, like ships on distant seas, 

Should meet and greet at last. 

'T were better far we had not met, 

Nor known each other's hearts; 
For us remains but sad regret, 

While oft the tear drop starts. 
And yet I love thee, oh, how much, 

Weak words can never tell, 
When with thee, all my soul delights — 

Apart, it beats a knell. 

But time may some day far remove 

The wall 'twixt you and me; 
And then like long imprisoned birds, 

We '11 fly beyond the sea. 
1 11 ask no sweeter heaven than this, 

No greater joy I '11 seek, 
Than evermore to be with thee, 

And all my rapture speak. 



CORA 



Though many a gifted mind we meet, 
Though fairest forms we see, 

To live with them is far less sweet, 
Than to remember thee! 



FOR THEE. 



By day or night, in weal or woe, 
My heart no longer free, 

Must beat the love it cannot show, 
And silent ache for thee. 




w 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CANNOT AND WILL NOT. 

If, dear, your beauty all could see, 

Could praise your manner and your 
grace, 
Could dwell with raptures ever new, 

Upon the glories of your face; 
But ah! to paint it or describe 

The graces rich which you possess, 
The master's hand, the poet's pen, 

Alone can all your worth express; 
And I cannot. 

But, dear, if I could only be 

The one to move in thy own breast 
The same sweet thoughts which stir my 
own 

When you are by, though unexpressed, 
I'd care not for the master's hand, 

I'd care not for the poet's pen, 
If you, alone, would thrill with joy 

When I my love confess — but then — 
Ah! you will not! 



TO 



With all my soul, then, let us part, 
Since both are anxious to be free; 

And I will send you home your heart, 
If you '11 send back mine to me. 

We 've had some happy hours together, 
But joy must often change its wing; 

And spring would be but gloomy weather, 
If we had nothing else but spring. 

'Tis not that I expect to find 

A more devoted, fond and true one, 

With rosier cheek or sweeter mind — 
Enough for me that she's a new one. 



COME TELL ME. 

Come tell me where the maid is found, 
Whose heart can love without deceit, 

And I will range the world around, 
To sigh one moment at her feet. 

Show me on earth a thing so rare, 
I'll own all miracles are true; 

To make one maid sincere and fair, 
Oh! 'tis the utmost heaven can do. 



WOMAN. 

Away, away, you're all the same, 
A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng! 

Oh ! by my soul, I burn with shame, 
To think I've been your slave so long! 

Still panting o'er a crowd to reign, 
More joy it gives to woman's breast, 

To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true manly lover blest! 

Away, away, your smile's a curse — 
Oh! blot me from the race of men, 

Kind, pitying heaven! by death or worse, 
Before I love such things again! 



A STRING AROUND MY FINGER. 

The bell that strikes the warning hour, 
Reminds me that I should not linger, 

And winds around my heart its power, 
Tight as the string around my finger. 



A sweet good-night I give, and then 
Far from my thoughts I need must 
fling her, 

Who blessed that lovely evening when 
She tied the string around my finger. 

And never more may I forget 

The spot where I so long did linger; — 
But watch another chance and get 

Another string around my finger. 



NATIONAL ANTHEM. 

One hue of our flag is taken, 

From the cheeks of my blushing pet, 
And its stars beat time and sparkle, 

Like the studs on her chemisette. 



GRIEF AND DANGER. 

Through grief and through danger thy 
smile hath cheered my way, 

Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn 
that round me lay. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




FOREVER YOURS. 

'T was thus the legend ran upon the 
scroll — 

" Forever yours;" 
Not for a part of time, but for the whole, 

Till time no more endures; 
Not only while you are both young and 
fair, 

Graceful and gay, 
But when old Time hath toueh'd with 
shades of care 

The freshness of your May; 
Not only while your sweet and radiant 
morning 

My soul to love allures, 
But though the whole world turn from 
you with scorning — 
"Forever yours." 

Tender the words — as he who loving 
spake them, 

" Forever yours." 
Fond were our vows, and we could never 
break them 

While time endures. 
He press'd the tiny circle on my finger: 

Sad memories! 
Hush! vain repinings dare no longer 
linger 

On dreams of faded bliss. 
Parted but for a time, and then reunion; 

For faith insures 
A chastened, hallowed, fond, communion; 

Then, love, " Forever yours." 



WHY? 



"Why is a garden's wildered maze 

Like a young widow, fresh and fair?"^ 

Because it wants some hand to raise 
The weeds that have nonbusiness there. 



WOMAN. 



Even silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes — her dreaded spear 
and darts. 




AFTER THE THEATRE. 

Ten dollars. Quite a sum to pay 
For one who earns but two a day, 
For. just a single evening's fun, — 
It seems so now the thing is done. 
Three for the carriage, for you know 
I never could ask her to go 

With that swell dress — the shade ecru, 
And train strung out a yard or two — 
In a plain horse car. And so nice 
She looked I do not grudge the price. 
Three more for seats; down center 

aisle 
And four rows back, — just right for 
style. 

The curtain rose. How time will pass 
While gazing through an opera glass. 

The curtain fell. Once more we stood 

Outside, and then the thought of food 
Itself presented. She said, yes, 
She felt quite hungry. You can guess 

That what we ate, with just a bit 

Of rosy wine to season it, 
Used up that other four. Time sped. 
I took her home. Good-night was said, 

Then to my own home came I straight, 

And here I sit and meditate. 
The cash I had four hours ago 
Is gone. I've naught for it to show. 

Have I regrets for it? Not one. 
'T was folly, but, by Jove, 'twas fun ! 



ACTIONS. 



Only the actions of the just 

Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 



I COULD FORGIVE. 

I could forgive inconstancy, 

To be one moment loved by thee, 



AMANDA. 



All other blessing I resign, 
Make but the dear Amanda mine. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HAPPY MOMENTS. 

There are some happy moments in this 
lone 
And desolate world of ours, that will 
repay 
The toil of struggling through it, and 
atone 
For many a long, sad night and weary 
day. 
They come upon the mind like some wild 
air 
Of distant music, when we know not 
where. 



MY OLD LOVE. 

I saw a face in the streets to-night 

That brought up the buried years — 
The face of the woman I might have 
wed — 

And it filled my eyes with tears: 
For she loved me well, and I loved her, 
too, 

But a shadow fell o'er our way; 
And I linked my fate with some one else, 

And she is my wife to-day. 

Long years have passed, and but few re- 
grets 

Have lingered around my heart; 
For the wife I have wed is good and 
true, 

And acts a womanly part. 
I dare not think I had happier been 

With the sweet first love of my youth, 
For she I have wed is a treasure of grace, 

And has served me with love and truth. 

But the face that I saw in the streets to- 
night 
In my soul such dreams have stirred, 
That I shrink before my wife's kind gaze, 

And am stung by each tender word: 
And the children who troop around my 
knee, 
And deem me so good and wise, 
Little reck of the thoughts that trouble 
me, 
Or the tears that bedim my eyes. 
18 



Were my old love wed — well, then, per- 
haps, 
All these thoughts I could soon dissi- 
pate; 
And yet, had her fate so designed it, I 
fear, 
The man she had wed I should hate. 
Can her heart have been true to the past, 
While mine has fresh anchorage sought ? 
I must not think that, lest a breach 
In the peace of my home should be 
wrought. 

How would it have been had we wed? 
Should I happier be, or would she? 
Grod knows; but this truth I am bound to 
confess, 
My wife is a dear and true wife to me. 
'T is not from what might have been, but 
from what is, 
That we now have to gather delight; 
And yet my old love, not the wife of my 
heart, 
Will be first in my dreams to-night. 



A REMEMBRANCE. 

Forget you? Never! E'en though time 
Should strangely change my earthly 
lot: 
Though friends should cease on you to 
smile, 
And hatred seek your name to blot. 

Though each successive year of age 
Should with a furrow leave its trace, 

Believe me, you I 'd ne'er forget, 
Despite the wrinkles on your face. 

Forget you? Though the stars should 
fade, 
The sun refuse his light to give, 
Though earth should from its orbit 
spring, 
In memory you still would live. 

Forget you ? Not while I receive 

Each month your heartless note, to 
wit: 

" To Pressly Fittem, suit of clothes, 
One hundred dollars. Please remit.' r 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A LOVE TEST. 

" Why not forget we ever met, 
We ever spoke, we ever kissed? 

Neither would die, and bye-and-bye, 
Forgotten, neither would be missed." 



ARABY'S DAUGHTER. 

Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's 
daughter! 
(Thus warbled a peri beneath the dark 
sea) 
No pearl ever lay under Oman's green 
water 
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in 
thee. 

Oh! fair as the sea-flower close to thee 
growing, 
How light was thy heart till love's 
witchery came, 
Like the wind of the south o'er a sum- 
mer lute blowing, 
And hush'd all its music, and wither'd 
its frame. 

But long upon Araby's green sunny 
highlands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember 
the doom 
Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl 
Islands, 
With nought but the sea-star to light 
up her tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-season is 
burning, 
And calls to the palm-groves the young 
and the old, 
The happiest there, from their pastime 
returning, 
At sunset will weep when thy story is 
told. 

The young village maid, when with 
flowers she dresses 
Her dark-flowing hair for some festival 
day, 
Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her 
tresses, 
She mournfully turns from her mirror 
away. 



Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero! 
forget thee, — 
Though tyrants watch over thy tears 
as they start, 
Close, close by the side of that hero, 
she'll set thee, 
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of 
her heart. 

Farewell! — be it ours to embellish thy 
pillow 
With everything beauteous that grows 
in the deep; 
Each flower of the rock and each gem of 
the billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy 
sleep. 

Around thee shall glisten the loveliest 
amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has 
wept; 
With many a shell, in whose hollow- 
• wreathed chamber, 
We, peris of ocean, by moonlight have 
slept. 

We '11 dive where the gardens of coral lie 
darkling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy 
head ; 
We '11 seek where the sands of the Cas- 
pian are sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over 
thy bed. 

Farewell ! — farewell ! — until pity's sweet 
fountain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the 
brave, 
They '11 weep for the chieftain who died 
on that mountain, 
They'll weep for the maiden who 
sleeps in the wave. 



LOVE. 



Oh ! what was love made for, if 't is not 

the same 
Through joy, and through sorrow — 

through glory and shame. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




FOR ME IN FUTURE. 


I TOLD YOU SO. 


For me in future, ueither friend no foe, 


When we review some cherished dream 


A stranger to thyself, thy weal or woe; 


of years 


With thee no more again I hope to trace 


And realize our scheme has "fallen 


The recollection of our early race; 


through," 


No more, as once, in social hours rejoice, 


We stand aghast, and blinded by our 


Or hear, unless in crowds, thy well known 


tears, 


voice; 


What could we disappointed mortals 


Still, if the wishes of a heart untaught 


do, 


To veil those feelings, which perhaps it 


Did not some dear friend hasten to our 


ought; 


side 


If these — but let me cease the lengthened 


With words of cheer, in whispers soft 


strain, — 


and low, 


Oh! if these wishes are not breathed in 


And in a twinkling bridge us o'er the tide 


vain, 


Of our despair with: "Well, I told 


The guardian angel, who directs thy fate, 


you so!" 


Will leave thee glorious, as he found thee 




great. 






THE YOUNG BRIDE. 




Holy and pure are the drops that fall 


LAIS. 


When the young bride goes from her 





father's hall; 


Sweetly you kiss, my Lais dear! 


She goes unto love yet untried and new — 


But while you kiss I feel a tear, 


She parts from the love which hath 


Bitter as those when lovers part, 


always been true. 


In mystery from your eyelids start! 




Sadly you lean your head to mine, 


" Oh bind the bridal veil," she said, 


And round my neck in silence twine, 


" Sweet sister, on my brow, 


Your hair along my bosom spread 


And let me to the altar go, 


All humid with the tears you shed. 


To take the sweetest vow 


Have I not kissed those lids of snow? 


That ever passed from woman's lips, 


Yet still, my love, like founts they flow 


Or thrilled through woman's breast; — 


Bathing our cheeks, whene'er they meet — 


Without it love is but a dream, 


Why is it thus? do tell me, sweet! 


And life is all unblest." 


Ah Lais! are my bodings right? 




Am I to lose you ? is to-night 




Our last ? — go, false to heaven and me ! 


A FABLE. 


Your very tears are treachery. 






The red rose to her velvet leaf 




Has rolled a tear drop from her heart, 
Her 's a beautifying grief, 




GOSSIP. 


Love made the glowing tear to start. 


— 


The blush of morning in the sky 


Do n 1 t talk about your neighbors, 


Is not so red and warm as she; 


Their sorrows or their cares; 


Neither do days of autumn die 


You '11 find enough to do, sir, 


Drowned in such color in the sea. 


To mind your own affairs. 


I pass thee, lily, fair and cold, 


The world is full of idle folks 


To me the red rose is more dear, 


You can afford to shirk, 


Because her tender heart can hold 


For there 's always people ready 


The love from which has sprung this 


To do such dirty work. 


tear. 



& 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




PRINCE ADEB. 

In Sana, 0, in Sana, God, the Lord, 

Was very kind and merciful to me ! 

Forth from the desert in my rags I came, 

Weary and sore of foot. I saw the spires 

And swelling bubbles of the golden 
domes 

Rise through the trees of Sana, and my 
heart 

Grew great within me with the strength 
of God; 

And I cried out, "Now shall I right my- 
self,— 

I, Adeb the despised — for God is just!" 
There he who wronged my father 
dwelt in peace, — 

My warlike father, who, when gray hairs 
crept , 

Around his forehead, as on Lebanon 

The whitening snows of winter, was be- 
trayed 

To the sly Imam, and his tented wealth 

Swept from him, 'twixt the roosting of 
the cock 

And his first crowing,— in a single night: 

And 1, poor Adeb, sole of all my race, 

Smear'd with my father's and my kins- 
man's blood, 

Fled through the Desert, till one day a 
tribe 

Of hungry Bedouins found me in the 
sand, 

Half mad with famine, and they took me 
up 

And made a slave of me, — of me, a prince ! 
All was fulfilled at last. I fled from 
them, 

In rags and sorrow. Nothing but my 
heart, 

Like a strong swimmer, bore me up 
against 

The howling sea of my adversity. 

At length o'er Sana, in the act to swoop, 

I stood, like a young eagle on a crag. 

The traveler passed me with suspicious 
fear: 

I asked for nothing; I was not a thief. 

The lean dogs snuffed around me; my 
lank bones, 

Fed on the berries and the crusted pools, 
ere a scant morsel. 




Once, a brown-skinned girl 
Called me a little from the common path 
And gave me figs and barley in a bag. 
I paid her with a kiss, with nothing more, 
And she looked glad; for I was beautiful, 
And virgin as a fountain, and as cold. 
I stretched her bounty, pecking like a 

bird 
Her figs and barley, till my strength re- 
turned. 
So when rich Sana lay beneath my eyes, 
My foot was as the leopard's and my 

hand 
As heavy as the lion's brandished paw: 
And underneath my burnished skin the 

veins 
And stretching muscles played, at every 

step, 
In wondrous motion. I was very strong. 
I looked upon my body, as a bird 
That bills his feathers ere he takes to 

flight — 
I, watching over Sana. Then I prayed; 
And on a soft stone wetted in the brook, 
Ground my long knife ; and then I prayed 

again. 
God heard my voice, preparing all 

for me 
As, softly stepping down the hills, I saw 
The Imam's summer-palace all ablaze 
In the last flash of sunset. Every fount 
Was spouting fire, and all the orange- 
trees 
Bore blazing coals, and from the marble 

walls 
' And gilded spires and columns, strangely 

wrought, 
Glared the red light until my eyes were 

pained 
With the fierce splendor. Till the night 

grew thick 
I lay within the bushes next the door, 
Still as a serpent, as invisible. 
The guard hung round the portal. Man 

by man 
They drifted away save one lone sentinel, 
And on his eyes God's finger lightly fell; 
He slept half standing. Like a summer 

wind 
That threads the grove, yet never turns a 

leaf, 
I stole from shadow unto shadow f orth<£ ■_. 




:s « 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



277 a 



Crossed all the marble court-yard, swung 

the door, 
Like a soft gust, a little way ajar, — 
My body's narrow width, no more, — and 

stood 
Beneath the cresset in the painted hall. 
I marveled at the riches of my foe; 
I marveled at God's ways with wicked 

men. 
Then I reached forth and took God's wait- 
ing hand: 
And so he led me over mossy floors, 
Flowered with the silken summer of 

Shiraz, 
Straight to the Imam's chamber. At the 

door 
Stretched a brawn eunuch, blacker than 

my eyes;. 
His wooly head lay like the Kaba-stone 
In Mecca's mosque, as silent and as huge. 
I stepped across it with my pointed knife 
Just missing a full vein along his neck, 
And pushing by the curtains, there I 

was, — 
I, Adeb the despised, — upon the spot 
That, next to Heaven, I longed for most 

of all. 
I could have shouted for the joy in me. 
Fierce pangs and flashes of bewildering 

light 
Leaped through my brain and danced be- 
fore my eyes; 
So loud my heart beat that I feared its 

sound 
Would wake the sleeper; and the bub- 
bling blood 
Choked in my throat till, weaker than a 

child, 
I reeled against a column, and there hung 
Tn a blind stupor. Then I prayed again: 
And sense by sense I was made whole 

once more. 
I touched myself: I was the same: I 

knew 
Myself to be alone Adeb, young and 

strong, 
With nothing but a stride of empty air 
Between me and God's justice. In a 

sleep, 
Thick with the fumes of the accursed 

grape, 




Sprawled the false Imam. On his shaggy 

breast, 
Like a white lily hanging on the tide 
Of some foul stream, the fairest woman 

slept 
These roving eyes have ever looked up- 
on. 
Almost a child, her bosom barely showed 
The change beyond her girlhood. All 

her charms 
Were budding, but half opened; for I saw 
Not only beauty wondrous in itself, 
But possibility of more to be 
In the full process of her blooming days. 
I gazed upon her and my heart grew 

soft 
As a parched pasture with the dew of 

heaven. 
While thus I gazed she smiled, and 

slowly raised 
The long curve of her lashes; and we 

looked 
Each upon each in wonder, not alarm, — 
Not eye to eye, but soul to soul, we held 
Each other for a moment. All her life 
Seemed centered in the circle of her eyes. 
She stirred no limb, her long-drawn, equal 

breath 
Swelled out and ebbed away beneath her 

breast, 
In calm unbroken. Not a sign of fear 
Touched the faint color on her oval cheek 
Or pinched the arches of her tender 

mouth. 
She took me for a vision, and she lay 
With her sleep's smile unaltered, as in 

doubt 
Whether real life had stolen into her 

dreams, 
Or dreaming stretched into her outer life. 
I was not graceless to a woman's eyes. 
The girls of Damar paused to see me pass, 
I, walking in my rags, yet beautiful, 
One maiden said, " He has a prince's 

air!" 
I am a prince ; the air was all my own. 
So thought the lily on the Imam's breast; 
And lightly as a summer mist, that lifts 
Before the morning, so she floated up, 
Without a sound or rustle of a robe, 
From her coarse pillow, and before me 

stood 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




With asking eyes. The Imam never 

moved. 
A stride and hlow were all I need, and 

they 
Were wholly in my power. I took her 

hand, 
I held a warning finger to my lips, 
And whispered in her small, expectant, 

ear, 
"Adeb, the son of Akem!" She replied 
In a low murmur whose bewildering 

sound 
Almost lulled wakeful me to sleep, and 

sealed 
The sleeper's lids in tenfold slumber, 

"Prince, 
Lord of the Imam's life and of my heart, 
Take all thou seest, — it is thy right, I 

know, — 
But spare the Imam for thy soul's sake!" 

Then I arrayed me in a robe of state, 
Shining with gold and jewels; and I 

bound 
In my long turban gems that might have 

bought 
The lands 'twixtBabelmandeb and Sahan. 
I girt about me with a blazing belt 
A scimitar, o'er which the sweating 

smiths 
In far Damascus hammered for long 

years, 
Whose hilt and scabbard shot a trembling 

light 
From diamonds and rubies. And she 

smiled, 
As piece by piece I put the treasure on, — 
To see me look so fair — in pride she 

smiled. 
I hung long purses at my side. I scooped 
From off a table, figs and dates and rice, 
And bound them to my girdle in a sack. 
Then over all I flung a snowy cloak, 
And beckoned to the maiden. So she 

stole 
Forth like my shadow, past the sleeping 

wolf 
Who wronged my father, o'er the wooly 

head 
Of the swart eunuch, down the painted 

court 
by the sentinel who standing slept. 




Strongly against the portal, through my 

rags — 
My old base rags, — and through phe 

maiden's veil, 
I pressed my knife, — upon the wooden 

hilt 
Was " Adeb, son of Akem," carved by me 
In my long slavehood, — as a passing sign 
To wait the Imam's waking. Shadows 

cast 
From two high sailing clouds upon the 

sand 
Pressed not more noiseless than we two, as 

one, 
Glided beneath the moonlight, till I smelt 
The fragrance of the stables. As I slid 
The wide doors open, with a sudden 

bound 
Up rose the startled horses: but they 

stood 
Still as the man who in a foreign land 
Hears his strange language, when my 

Desert call, 
As low and plaintive as the nested dove's, 
Fell on the listening ears. From stall to 

stall, 
Feeling the horses with my groping 

hands, 
I crept in darkness; at length I came 
Upon two sister mares whose rounded 

sides, 
Fine muzzles, and small heads and pointed 

ears, 
And foreheads spreading 'twixt their eye- 
lids wide, 
Long slender tails, thin manes and coats 

of silk, 
Told me that of the hundred steeds there 

stalled, 
My hand was on the treasures. O'er and 

o'er 
I felt their bony joints, and down their 

legs 
To the cool hoofs; — no blemish any 

where : 
These I led forth and saddled. Upon one 
I sat the lily, gathered now for me, — 
My own, henceforth, forever. So we rode 
Across the grass, beside the stony path, 
Until we gained the highway that is lost, 
Leading from Sana, in the eastern sand 




J3^ 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




When, with a cry that both the desert- 
born 
Knew without hint from whip or goading 

spur, 
We broke into a gallop. Far behind 
In sparks and smoke the dusty highway 

rose; 
And ever on the maiden's face I saw, 
When the moon flashed upon it, the 

strange smile 
It wore when waking. Once I kissed 

her mouth 
When she grew weary, and her strength 

returned. 
All through the night we scoured be- 
tween the hills: 
The moon went down behind us, and the 

stars 
Dropped after her; but long before I saw 
A planet blazing straight against our 

eyes 
The road had softened, and the shadowy 

hills 
Had flattened out, and I could hear the 

hiss 
Of sand spurned backward by the flying 

mares. 
Glory to God! I was at home again! 
The sun rose on us; far and near I saw 
The level Desert; sky met sand all round. 
We paused at mid-day by a palm crowned 

well, 
And ate and slumbered. Somewhat, too, 

was said: 
The words have slipped my memory. That 

same eve 
We rode sedately through a Hamoum 

camp, — 
I, Adeb, prince among them, and my 

bride. 
And ever since amongst them I have rid- 
den, 
A head and shoulders taller than the best, 
And ever since my days have been of 

gold, 
My nights have been of silver, — God is 

just! 



A WISH. 



O'er roses may your footsteps move, 
Your smiles be ever smiles of love. 




THE RING OP GOLD. 

Behold, my love, the curious gem 
Within this simple ring of gold; 

'Tis hallowed by the touch of them 
Who lived in classic hours of old. 

Some fair Athenian girl, perhaps, 
Upon her hand this gem displayed, 

Nor thought that time's eternal lapse 
Should see it grace a lovelier maid. 



WHAT SHE SAID. 

" Darling," she said, and her white hand 
fell 
As lightly as an angel's, on my brow; 
" I will be true to one I love so well 

As I do you — and for tbe rest, 
Fond heart, believe me, when I tell you 
now, 
You are the one that I love best!" 

"For why? I could not tell you if I tried, 
So, fond heart, be content with what I 
say — 
I would not love another man — be satis- 
fied, 
And quiet all your fears and heart's 
unrest, 
For all the time, forever and a day — 
You are the one that I love best!" 



BEAUTY WILL NOT LAST 
ALWAYS. 

We know that with no owner beauty 

long will stay; 
Upon the wings of time she bears herself 

away. 



GLENCAIRN. 

The mother may forget the child 
That smiles so sweetly on her knee; 

But I '11 remember thee, Glencairn, 
And all that thou hast done for me 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TWO OF A KIND. 

A man went up the aisle a seat to find, 
Unknowing that a dog came up behind. 
The usher stopped him, saying, " Sir, I 

fear 
You do not know dogs are not welcomed 

here." 

The man turned 'round, the friendly dog 

espied. 
u He don't belong to me, sir," he replied. 
" But, sir, he followed you, without a 

doubt." 
"And so did you." The dog was hustled 

out. 



A POEM OF PASSION. 

I love to dream, when I take my sleep, 

Of a maiden I once adored: 
How we used to wander beside the deep 

When the mighty billows roared, 
And gather shells from the shining 
sands — 

The shells that lay thickly there — 
And none were white as her lovely hands, 

And none so smooth or so fair. 

I love to dream of her angel face, 

And her teeth like a row of pearls; 
Her swan-like neck, with its queenly 
grace, 

Half hidden by golden curls. 
And there was one night — it was long 
ago — 

That I asked her to be my bride; 
' There came to her cheek a crimson glow, 

And she shed a tear as she sighed. 

And my heart beat fast with a weird de- 
light, 
For I knew what the answer 'd be; 
And I seized her fingers and held them 
tight, 
And danced in a lover's glee; 
But her voice was low, and her eyes were 
sad, 
And her beauteous brow was grave, 
And she muttered, "You '11 make my hus- 
band mad 
If he hears you, go wild and rave." 




TWO PARTINGS. 

" Give me a kiss, that going home 

My footsteps fall on air; 
Give me the red-tipped mountain rose 

That nestles in your hair." 
Her cheek upturned took the flower's hue 

At the touch of her lover's lips; 
The rose unbound, as it swept her face, 

Caught the blush on the petal's tips. 

" Give me a kiss, I am going home, 

The links in my life's chain break; 
A kiss and v a flower, my love, from you, 

Will the pain from my parting take." 
Her lover bent low as an angel light 

Came into her closing eyes; 
A kiss — the rose at her cheek he placed, 

But its petals, alas! were white. 



A HINT TO THE "MAN'S GIRL." 

Many a girl is careless as to how much 
money a man spends for her. Three or 
five dollars for a horse and a carriage he 
can poorly afford, perhaps; yet she will 
go with him week after week, with no 
peculiar interest in* him, unmindful, ap- 
parently, whether he earns the money or 
takes it from his employer's drawer. He 
makes her expensive presents. He takes 
her to a concert, in going to which, usu- 
ally, save for her pride and his gallantry, 
a horse-car ride for ten cents would be 
far wiser than a carriage-ride for several 
dollars. A young man respects a young 
woman all the more who is careful of the 
way in which he spends his money, and 
will not permit too much to be used for 
herself. A thoughtful and well-bred girl 
will be thoughtful about these matters. 



SAFETY. 



Happy were men if they but under- 
stood 
There is no safety but in doing good. 
Yet when we think they most in safety 
stand, 
The greatest peril often is at hand. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



2S1 



COME, IF THE LOVE. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee, — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worship'd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place; — 

Then, fare thee well! — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine !" 



MAN MAY BE HAPPY. 

"Man may be happy if he will: 1 ' 

I 1 ve said it often, and I think so still. 

Who told him that he must be cursed on 

earth? 
The Cod of Nature ? — no such thing. 
Heaven whispered him, the moment of 

his birth, 
"Do n't cry, my lad, butdance and sing;" 
Yet some there are, of men, I think the 

worst, 
Poor imps! unhappy, if they can't be 

cursed. 



MARRIACE. 



Marriage is a feast where the grace is 
sometimes better than the dinner. 

If heaven is ever felt below, 
A scene so like it, sure is this, 

When bride and groom begin to know 
A foretaste of celestial bliss. 

Blest be the tie that binds 
Two willing hearts in love; 

The fellowship of kindred minds 
Is like to that above. 



FLIES. 




A thousand flies did I at ev'ning slay, 
Yet did one wake me at the break of day. 



IN LUCK. 

Yes, pretty maiden, where you are, 

In palace or humble cot, 
Whether your life is fair and bright, 

Or trial and toil your lot: 
Whether your name is Flora May, 

Or homely Maiy Ann, 
You will be in luck if you win that love, 

The love of an honest man. 



DRESS. 



What! is the jay more precious than the 

lark 
Because his feathers are more beautiful: 
Or is the adder better than the eel 
Because his painted skin contents the 

eye? 
Oh, no, good Kate; neither art thou worse 
For thy poor furniture and mean array. 



GOOD, IF TRUE. 

Two dogs fell to fighting in a saw mill. 
In the course of the tussle one of the 
dogs went plump against a saw in rapid 
motion, which cut him in two instanter. 
The hind legs ran away, but the fore legs 
continued the fight until he whipped the 
other dog. 



sians, 



SUNDAY AND SABBATH. 

The Greeks observe Monday, the Per- 
Tuesday, the Assyrians, Wednes- 
day, the Egyptians, Thursday, the Turks, 
Friday, the Jews, Saturday, and the 
Christians, Sunday, as their Sabbath for 
public worship. 



PROPOSAL. 



"Oh! dear tome is blissful married life — 
Girl of my choice, to thee I humbly 
sue: 
Will you accept me, be a loving wife ? 
Then to my heart I'll take thee ever 
true." 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO MELISSA. 

Die when you will, you need not wear 
At heaven's court a form more fair 
Than beauty here on earth has given ! 
Keep but the lovely locks we see — 
The voice we hear — and you shall be 
An angel ready made for heaven! 



BE CONTENT. 

Ne'er murmur at your lot in life, 

Look upward! be a man! 
Away with discontent and strife, 

And do the best you can. 
What though you have [no broad green 
lands, 

No coffers filled with gold, 
You 've health and strength, and honest 
hands, 

Containing wealth untold. 

Though cares are on life's pathway set, 

And sorrows reign around, 
Remember, oft where rank weeds grow 

A flow'ret fair is found; 
And if 't is cherished, watched with care, 

The weeds all cleared away, 
That one may bud, and others spring, 

Beneath the sun's warm ray. 

Far better have the joy that fills 

The honest workman's breast, 
The sleep that o'er his senses steals 

When nature asks for rest, 
Than live a life of idleness, 

Though riches may surround it. 
Then be content, and leave the world 

Better than you found it. 



MARRIAGE. 




Thy soul and mine by mutual courtship 
won, 

Meet like two mingling flames and make 
but one; 

Union of hearts, not hands, does mar- 
riage make, 

And cordial sympathy keeps love awake. 



HE TOOK HER HAND. 



He took her hand, and soon she felt him 
wring 
Her pretty fingers all, instead of one; 
Anon his stealthy arm began to cling 
About her waist that had been clasped 
by none. 



TO ELSIE. 



Sweet lady! look not thus again; 

Those little pouting smiles recall 
A maid remember'd now with pain 

Who was my love, my life, my all! 

Oh! while this heart delirious took 
Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, 

Thus would she pout, and lisp, and look, 
And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh! 

Yes, I did love her — madly love — 
She was the sweetest, best deceiver! 

And oft she swore she 'd never rove ! 
And I was destined to believe her! 

Then lady, do not wear tbe smile 

Of her whose smile could thus betray; 

Alas! I think the lovely wile 

Again might steal my heart away. 

And when the spell that stole my mind 
On lips so pure as thine I see, 

I fear the heart which you resigned 
Will err again, and fly to thee. 



BY DAY OR NIGHT. 

By day or night, in weal or woe, 
My heart, no longer free, 

Must bear the love it cannot show, 
And silent ache for thee. 



NEW YEAR. 



The drunkard will swear off again 
When the old year is gone; 

But he who uses words profane, 
Will probably swear on. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



283 



431 



JUSTICE. 

Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, 

dumb, 
But vengeance is behind, and justice is to 

come. 



CHARITY. 



Such is the charity of some men, that 
they " owe no man " ill-will, always mak- 
ing payment in advance. 



RICHES. 



He is rich whose income is more than 
his expenses, and he will always be poor 
whose expenses exceed his income. 



0, WOMAN. 



0, woman! if by simple wile 

Thy soul has strayed from honor's 
track, 
'T is mercy only can beguile, 

By gentle ways the wanderer back. 

The stain that on thy virtue lies, 
Wash'd by thy tears may yet decay; 

As clouds that sully morning skies 
May all be wept in showers away. 

Go, go — be innocent, and live — 

The tongues of men may wound thee 
sore, 

But heaven in pity can forgive, 

And bids thee u go and sin no more." 



COQUETTES. 



Who has not heard coquettes complain 
Of half their life misspent in vain? 



ECSTACY. 




A taste of such bliss is a life ere it closes, 
'T is the sweetness of fragrance from 
thousands of roses. 



THIS WORLD. 

This world has pleasure for us all, 

As well as care and sorrow. 
What tho' the skies look dark to-day? — 

They may clear off to-morrow. 
Then why should we let present cares 

Of former ones remind us? 
They're past and gone — so let's forget 

The ills we leave behind us. 



CUSTARD AND MUSTARD. 

Sugar-toothed Dick for dainties was sick, 
So he slyly stole into the kitchen, 

Snatched a cup from the pantry and 
darted out quick, 
Unnoticed by mother or Grretchen. 

Whispered he: "There 's no cake, for to- 
morrow they bake, 
But this custard looks rich and deli- 
cious. 
How they '11 scold at the rats, or the mice, 
or the cats; 
Of me I do n't think they 're suspicious. 

"They might have filled up such a mere 
little cup, 
And for want of a spoon I must drink 
it; 
But 'tis easy to pour — hark! who's that 
at the door?" — 
And the custard went down ere you 'd 
think it. 

With a shriek he sprang up, to the floor 
dashed the cup, 
Then he howled, tumbled, spluttered, 
and blustered, 
Till the terrible din brought the whole 
household in — 
He had swallowed a cupful of mustard. 



PERISH THE FIEND. 

Perish the fiend whose iron heart 
To fair affection's truth unknown, 

Bids her he fondly loved depart, 
Unpitied, helpless, and alone. 




V$84 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



U 



% 



LEORA AND JACOB. 

Leora and Jacob —lovely pair! — 

Courted in Dalton City. 
He praised her eyes and nut-brown hair; 

She praised him out of pity. 
He swore by all the muses nine, 

That she alone could dance well ; 
She vowed that he was past divine, 

And that he was no dam — sel. 

To me you 're sweeter than the rose 
That grows in Dal ton's garden; 

I love you tbro' and thro', Jove knows! 
rom gloves to Dolly Varden. 

So do not tell me that my life 
Must seek a path diverging. 

I want you, Daisy, for a wife; 
Say yes, love ! wait not urging. 



TO LOVELY L. 

A true republic was my mind, 

No tyrant monarch here held sway; 
Here liberty could ever find 

A refuge, and within it stay. 
But ah! a lass of lovely mein 

Laid seige and captured all my troops, 
Made good her title as my queen 

By binding me with love-made loops. 



me 



How could I struggle to get free 
When love and white arms held 
fast? 

In love I lost my liberty, 
And abdicated power at last. 

Then hail! the reign of the poet's queen! 

The sweetest monarchy I e'er had seen! 



SOCIETY. 



The society a man keeps is not only 
the index of his character, but it like- 
wise tends to form and fashion it. 



BE WISE. 



To sum up all, be merry, I advise; 

And as we're rnerry, may we still be wise! 




COMING EVENTS. 

'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical 

lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows 

before. 
For dark and despairing my sight I may 

seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would 

reveal. 



ASK ME NOT, SYLVIA. 

Ask me not, friend, what I approve or 

blame; 
Perhaps I know not why I like or damn; 
I can be pleased, and I dare own I am. 
I read thee over with a lover's eye; 
Thou hast no faults, or I no faults can 

s py; 

Thou art all beautv, or all blindness I. 



I LOVED THEE. 

I loved thee once. Yes, tell me when it 

was 
I loved thee not. In childhood, youth, in 

manhood, 
And old age — in all I loved thee ! 
And were I once again to live life over, 

thou wouldst be 
To me in memory dear, that I might truly 

say, indeed, 
"I loved thee once," and that was all my 

life. 



REMEMBER THEE. 

Remember thee! 'remember thee! 

Till Lethe quench that burning stream, 
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, 

And haunt thee like a feverish dream. 

Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not, 
Thy husband, too, shall think of thee: 

By neither shalt thou be forgot, 

Thou false to him, thou fiend to me. 



SUNSET. 



"Then twilight drew the curtain up 
and pinned it with a star." 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




PLEASURES. 

How blest he names, in love's familiar 
tone, 

The kind fair friend by nature marked 
his own! 

And in the waveless mirror in his mind 

Views the fleet years of pleasure left be- 
hind 

Since Anna's empire o'er his heart began ! 

Since first he called her his before his 
God and man! 



FAIR VENUS, ON THY MYRTLE 
SHRINE. 

May no distracting thoughts destroy 

The holy calm of sacred love! 
May all the hours be winged with joy, 

Which hover faithful hearts above! 
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine, 

May I with some fond lover sigh! 
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine, 

With me to live, with me to die. 

Perish the fiend whose iron heart, 

To fair affection's truth unknown, 
Bids her he fondly loved, depart, 

Unpitied, helpless, and alone; 
Who ne'er unlocks with silver key 

The milder treasures of his soul; 
May such a friend be far from me, 

And ocean's storms between us roll. • 



TO IANTHE. 



Young peri of the West, — 't is well for 
thee 
My years already doubly number thine; 
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on 
thee, 
And safely view thy ripening beauties 
shine. 
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline, 
Happier, that while all younger hearts 
shall bleed, 
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes 
assign 
To those whose admiration shall suc- 
n ceed. 



TO MY GENTLE COUSIN. 

Live forever, gay, jovial coz! 

Attended by virtue and love; 
For every queen that is, or was, 

Without them would nothing prove. 
A woman sublime and truly grand, 
Gives wealth to him who receives j^her 
hand. 



SATISFIED. 



At twenty-three 
I planned my scheme of life. — I'd be 
A merchant, toward whose waiting'pier 
Globe-circling ships should homeward 

steer 
From orient and Occident, 
When millions had been won, I meant 
To choose a wife of gentle race, 
Cultured in mind and fair in face; 
Build me a palace with each part 
By art designed, enriched by art; 
And finally, to have one son, 
Handsome, and tall, but only one. 
Thus I forecast my destiny 
At twenty-three. 

At forty-three, 
How have I prospered? Let me see — 
I find myself a simple clerk, 
With light reward and heavy work, 
Yet hoping for advance in rank. 
I owe no man and have in bank 
A trifle saved. I occupy 
Some fourth-floor rooms, which Kate and 

I 
Think charming. (Kate 's my wife/you 

know, 
A pretty seamstress long ago.) 
We have six girls — perhaps too many, 
But not for world's we 'd part with any. 
So kind has fortune been to me 
At forty-three. 



TOO SWEET TO END IN DEATH. 

And each late rose sigh'd with its latest 

breath, 
This sweet world is too sweet to end i 

death. 





286 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A KING OF FRANCE AND THE 
FAIR LADY. 

A king of France upon a day, 
With a fair lady of his court, 

Was pleased at battledore to play — 
A very fashionable sport! 

Into the bosom of this fair court dame, 
Whose whiteness did the snow's pure 

whiteness shame, 
King Louis by odd mischance did knock, 
Or by intention (no), the shuttlecock. 
Thrice happy rogue, upon the town of 

doves 
To nestle with the pretty little loves! 

" Now, sire, pray take it out, " — quoth 
she, 

With an arch smile. — But what did he? 

What? what to charming modesty be- 
longs! 

Obedient to her soft command, 

He raised it — but not with his hand! 

No, marvelling reader, but the chimney 
tongs. 

What a chaste thought in this good king! 
How clever! 

When shall we hear again of such a 
thing? 

Lord! never. 

Now were our princes to be prayed 
To such an act by some fair maid, 

I '11 bet my life not one would mind it: 
But handy, without much ado, 
The youths would search the bosom 
through, 

Although it took a day to find it. 




TAKE CARE, FAIR LADY. 

Fair maiden, whose lover, brave and true, 
Goes forth at your word to seek a name, 
Or honors, or riches, or rank for you, 
Take care! for perhaps he may do the 

same, 
And gain the place, and the wealth, and 
the fame, 
But come not back for the lady. 



BALLAD STANZAS. 

I knew by the smoke that so gracefully 
curl'd 
Above the green elms, that a cottage 
was near, 
And I said, " if there 's peace to be found 
in the world, 
A heart that is humble might hope for 
it here!" 

It was noon, and on flowers that lan- 
guish'd around, 
In silence reposed the voluptuous bee; 
Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a 
sound 
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow 
beech tree. 

And here, in this lone little wood, I ex- 
claimed, 
With a maid who was lovely to soul and 
to eye; 
Who would blush if I prais'd her, and 
weep if I blam'd, 
How blest could I live and how calm 
could I die. 

By the shade of yon sumach, whose red 
berry dips 
In the gush of the fountain how sweet 
to recline, 
And to know that I sigh'd upon innocent 
lips, 
Which had never been sigh'd on by 
any but mine. 



AN ODE. 



While blooming youth and gay delight 
Sit on thy rosy cheeks confest, 

Thou hast, my dear, undoubted right 
To triumph o'er this destin'd breast. 

My reason bends to what thy eyes ordain; 

For I was born to love; and thou, to 
reign. 



MERCY. 



Still let some mercy in your bosom live, 
And if you can't approve, at least f org: 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



HER LITTLE GLOVE. 

Oh, little glove, do I but dream I hold 
thee, 
So warm, so sweet, and tawny as her 
hair; 
Nay ! from her hand to-night I dared un- 
fold thee, 

As we went down the stair. 

She said no word; she did not praise nor 
blame me; 
She is so proud, so proud and cold and 
fair! 
Ah! dear, my love, thy silence did not 
shame me, 

As we went down the stair. 

Thy dark eyes flashed; thy regal robes 
arrayed thee 
In queeuly grace, and pride beyond 
compare; 
But on thy cheek a sudden red betrayed 
thee! 

As we went down the stair. 

0, lady mine, some near night will I prove 
thee! 
By this soft glove I know that I may 
dare 
Take thy white hand and whisper, "Sweet, 
I love thee, 1 ' 

As we go down the stair! 



DISTRUST. 



I saw mankind with vice incrusted; 
I saw that honor's sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted; 
That he was still deceived, who trusted 

To love, or friend; 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 



REMEMBER. 



k 



Remember each his sentence waits; 

And he that shall rebut 
Sweet Mercy's suit, on him the gates 

Of mercy shall be shut. 




HAPPY LOVE. 

happy love! — where love like this is 
found ! — 
heart- felt raptures! — bliss beyond 



compare 



I've paced much this weary, mortal 
round, 
And sage experience bids me this de- 
clare — 
" If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure 
spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 
pair, 
In other's arms breathe out the tender 
tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents 
the evening gale." 



DRINK TO HER. 

Drink to her that each loyes best, 

And if you nurse a flame 
That 's told but to her mutual breast, 

We will not ask her name. 

Enough, while memory, tranced and glad, 

Paints silently the fair, 
That each should dream of joys he 's had, 

Or yet may hope to share. 



SACRIFICE. 



By devastation the rough warrior gains, 
And farmers fatten most when famine 

reigns ; 
For sickly seasons the physicians wait, 
And politicians thrive in broils of state; 
The lover 's easy when the fair one sighs, 
And gods subsist not but by sacrifice. 



CORNELIA. 



For your dear sake, my only care 
Was how my fatal love to hide; 

Forever drooping with despair, 
Neglecting all the world beside. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




IN A FOREIGN LAND. 

For he is in a foreign land 

Whose arm should set me free, 

And I must wear the willow garland 
For him that 's dead or false to me. 

Nay, say not that his faith is tainted! 

He raised his vizor — at the sight 
She fell into his arm and fainted; 

It was, indeed, her own true knight! 



FOREVER THINE. 

Forever thine, when hills and seas divide, 
When storms combine; 

When west winds sigh or deserts part us 
wide, 

Forever thine! 

In the gay circle of the proud saloon, 
Whose splendors shine; 

In the lone stillness of the evening moon, 
Forever thine ! 

And when the light of song that fires me 
now, 

Shall life resign; 
My breaking heart shall breathe its latest 
vow, 

Forever thine ! 



COUPLETS. 



They never taste who always drink; 
They always talk who never think. 

So to prevent the least reproach, 
Betty went with her in the coach. 

Oh ! what perfections must that lady share, 
Who fairest is esteem'd where all are fair! 




LOVE SOUNDS THE ALARM. 

Love sounds the alarm, 

And fear is a-flying; 
When beauty 's the prize, 

What mortal fears dying? 



THE RABBINICAL ORIGIN OF 
WOMEN. 

They tell us that woman was made of a 
rib 
Just pick'd from a corner so snug] in 
the side; 
But the Rabbins swear to you that this 
is a fib, 
And 'twas not so at all that the sex 
was supplied. 

For old Adam was fashioned, the first of 
his kind, 
With a tail like a monkey, ^full an ell 
and a span; 
And when Nature cut off this appendage 
behind, 
Why — then woman was made of the 
tail of the man. 

If such is the tie between women and 
men, 
The ninny who weds is a pitiful elf; 
For he takes to his tail, like an idiot 
again, 
And makes a most damnable ape of 
himself. 

Yet, if we may judge as the fashion pre- 
vail, 
Every husband remembers the original 
plan, 
And, knowing his wife is no more than 
his tail, 
Why — he leaves her behind him as 
much as he can. 



CUPID SMILED. 

While Cupid smil'd, by kind occasion 

bless'd, 
And with the secret kept, the love in- 

creas'd; 
The amorous youth frequents the silent 

groves; 
And much he meditates, for much he 

loves. 
He loves, 't is true, and is beloved again, 
Great are his joys, but will they long 

main? 




J3^ 



¥ 














•■■s?0rj 



WINTER SCENE ON THE RUSSIAN STEPPES. 



19 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO MILDRED. 

You shun me like a fawn, my dearest 
Milly, 
That seeks its mother on the pathless 
hills, 
Trembling at every sound — the little 
silly — 
Of whispering breezes or of gurgling 
rills. 

Gazing with trembling knees and beating 
heart, 
At new-found marvels that she dare 
not pass; 
And bounding off again with sudden start 
From rustling leaves or lizards in the 
grass. 

Don't be alarmed, my darling — I won't 
eat you — 
I'm not a Bengal tiger, nor a lion; 
Leave your mamma for one who'll never 
cheat you; 
You'd like a husband if you'd only 
try one. 



I MET A LADY. 

I met a lady in the meads, 

Full beautiful — a fairy's child, 

Her hair was long, her foot was light, 
And her eyes were wild. 

She took me me to her elfin grot, 

And there she wept, and sighed full 
sore, 

And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
With kisses four. 



PROVIDENCE. 

Now cease the ways of Providence to 
blame, 
And human faults with human griefs 
confess; 
'Tis thou art changed, while heaven is 
still the same; 
From thy ill councils date thy ill suc- 
cess. 




WON'T YOU. 

Do you remember when you heard 

My lips breathe love's first faltering word 

You do, sweet — don't you? 
When having wandered all the day, 
Linked arm in arm I dared to say, 

"You'll love me— won't you?" 

And when you blushed, and could not 

speak, 
I fondly kissed your glowing cheek; 

Did that affront you? 
Oh, surely not; your eye exprest 
No wrath — but said, perhaps you jest, 

"You '11 love me — won't you? " 

1' m sure my eyes replied, "I will;" 
And you believe that promise still; 

You do, sweet — dont you? 
Yes, yes! when age has made our eyes 
Unfit for questions and replies, 

You'll love me — won't you ? 



A YOUTHFUL RECOLLECTION. 
INFANT. 

I recollect a nurse called Ann, 
Who carried me about the grass, 

And one fine day a fine young man 
Came up and kissed the pretty lass. 

She did not make the least objection! 

Thinks 1, "Aha! 
When I can talk I '11 tell mamma." 
And that's my earliest recollection. 



AN 



I DARE AFFIRM. 

The truth I always hold, and dare 

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go,- 
Whatever things be sweet and fair, 
Love makes them so. 



DIAPHENIA 



She found me roots of relish sweet, 
And honey wild and manna-dew, 
And then in language strange she said, 
I love thee true. 




? 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




SENSE. 


WOMAN. 


Sense is of course annex'd to wealth and 


All honor to women, the sweetheart, the 


power; 


wife, 


No muse is proof against a golden 


The delight of our firesides, by night 


shower. 


and by day, 


No shape-smith set up shop and drove a 


Who never does anything wrong in her 


trade 


life 


To mend the work wise Providence has 


Except when permitted to have her 


made. 


own way. 


TO A DISTANT FRIEND. 


HAD I A HEART. 


Why art thou silent! is thy love a plant 


Had I a heart more like thine own, 


Of such weak fiber that the treacherous 


As warm, and kind, and free, 


air 


As firm and fond, thou should'st have 


Of absence withers what was once so fair? 


known 


Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? 


' That heart but beat for thee ! 


Yet have my thoughts for thee been vig- 


But since so pure and fair thou art, 


ilant, 


Thou never canst be mine — 


Bound to thy service with increasing 


I would not have thee take a heart 


care — 


So all unlike from thine. 


The mind's least generous wish a mendi- 




cant 


Thy perfect heart my heart shall teach 


For naught but what thy happiness 


To love thee best of all! 


could spare. 


Dear, from thy heaven I cannot reach, 




I would not have thee fall. 


Speak! — though this soft warm heart, 




once free to hold 


And what though fate the gift denies 


A thousand tender pleasures, thine and 


Thy heart would not refuse? 


mine, 


Not his the praise who wins the prize, 


Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 


But his who dies to lose. 


Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with 




snow 




'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 




Speak, that my torturing doubts their end 


OERALDINE'S BOOTS. 


may know! 







They nearly strike me dumb, 




And I tremble when they come 


CAROLINE. 


Pit-a-pat, 





This palpitation means 


So fair thy pensile beauty burns, 


That these boots are Geraldine's — 


When soft the tear of twilight flows, 


Think of that. 


So due thy plighted step returns, 




To chambers brighter than the rose; 


Oh where did hunter win 




So delectable a skin 


To peace, to pleasure, and to love, 


For her feet? 


So kind a star thou seem'st to be, 


You lucky little kid, 


Sure some enamored orb above 


You perished, so you did, 


Descends and burns to meet with thee. 


For my sweet. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




PHEBE AND ASTERIA. 

So strict the union of the tender pair, 
What heaven decreed for one they both 

must share, 
Like meeting rivers in one stream they 

flow, 
And no divided joys or sorrows know. 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 

The dome of heaven is not half so deep 

As a true woman's love; 
The silver sentinels may fall asleep 

Upon their heats above. 
Still wakeful is her heart. It is it's rest 
To be a guard o'er him who seems the 
best. 



Go brush the dew from yonder flowering 
bush, 
And meeting the red day, 
The inextinguishable morning, push 

Back into streaks of gray; 
With thy own feeble breath blow out the 

sun; 
Thou 'It fail to lose her love if once 't is 
won. 

It is the shield, the trumpet, and the spear 

In the campaign of life; 
The warriors without it well may fear — 

Unarmed he seeks the strife; 
Yes, it is deeper than the dome above, 
It is the overflow of heaven's love. 



JOYS. 



The joys of either sex in love, 
In each of them we read; 

Successive each to each does prove, 
Fierce youth and yielding maid. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

He is a happy man who finds a friend 
in need, but he is more fortunate who 
never needs a friend. 




TYRANNY. 

Of all the tyrannies of human kind, 
The worst is that which persecutes the 
mind. 



AN OLD MYTH. 

He lies upon the bare hillside, 

A shepherd youth in slumber lost; 

His thoughts in dreams and wandering 
wide, 
Yet still by earthly trouble tost. 

How can he dream of love and light 

Thus lonely mid the shades of night? 

Behind a cloud, enthroned on high, 
Fair Dian leans in maiden thought; 

She ne'er has heaved love's gentle sigh r 
Though by immortal lovers sought. 

But as she leaves her cloud to-night 

Endymion's face arrests her sight. 

Was it his brow so calm and pale, 
His fair young face devoid of joy, 

That made her swift descend the vale 
And linger by the sleeping boy? 

Till lips that ne'er knew human bliss 

Have tasted an immortal's kiss. 

Love makes her choice, we know not why, 
True love will ever find its own, 

Whether down-leaning from the sky, 
Or reaching up to heights unknown. 

Diana's vestal heart is won 

When she beholds Endymion. 



WHY DO WE QUARREL? 
AND I. 



SHE 



Why do we quarrel, she and I, 

You ask. ' T is easy answering this. 
We quarrel so that, by and by, 

We may make up, forgive .und kiss. 
We meet, alas! and careless pass, 

As if on each we never smiled; 
We quarrel so that we may know 

The bliss of being reconciled. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




EAVESDROPPING. 

They sat together in the soft moonlight, 
Upon the rocks, and gazed out o'er the 
sea; 
He was a handsome, manly youth, and 
quite 
A match for such a lovely girl as she. 

Their trysting place was a romantic spot, 
Known, as the lovers thought, to them 
alone; 
For, as Old Shake would say, they did not 
wot 
That I had made their secret all my 
own. 

They were engaged. She'd named the 
happy day, 
Within a month the twain would be 
made one; 
Meanwhile, they spooned; and I'm 
ashamed to say, 
I used to hide close by, and watch the 
fun. 

This special night they sat there, slow to 
speak 
As lovers will, entranced in silent 
bliss, 
Until he drew her close, and on her 
cheek 
Impressed, as lovers will, a tender kiss. 

She started, shrieked, and thrust aside his 
arm, 
Then turned away her head, and softly 
cried, 
"Why, darling!" he exclaimed, "What 
was the harm? 
What! can't a fellow kiss his future 
bride?" 

But still she sobbed. And then down by 
her side 
In wild alarm he knelt, and begged 
that she would speak. 
"What can I do to soothe my sweet? " 
he cried, 
"What was the' meaning of that 
dreadful shriek? "■' ? '''i ! 




She raised her head a little, dried a tear, 
The color flushed her face in one hot 
wave; 
" I — I think," she sobbed," that if you 
really love me, dear, 
You will go off somewhere, and get a 
shave." 



WE TWO. 



We two drifted on by chance, 

Without a thought of wind or weather, 
Awoke as from a pleasant trance 

To find we 'd drawn quite close together. 
Just how we came to love? — ah! well, 

I do not think I madly sought her; 
Attracted by some subtle spell, 

We joined like chips on quiet water. 

We two have laughed in youthful glee, 

When suns have shone each day more 
brightly; 
And if a cloud arose o'er me 

I cared not so it touched her lightly. 
We two have walked within the shade 

Where sober tints have checked our 
laughter, 
When hearts were saddened and dismayed 

By storm and clouds that follow after. 

And in the wide, wide world, we two 

Have often looked, with unfeigned 
wonder, 
On wedded loves that proved untrue, 

On pains that drifted wide asunder, 
Nor fear of such a fate as this 

Her heart or mine has ever troubled, 
For well we know that single bliss 

By joining hands are more than 
doubled. 

And, though it seemed blind chance that 
brought 
Our aimless, youthful hearts together, 
I have, in soberness, since thought 

We were not straws turned by the 
weather. 
That destiny had much to do 

With all our steps, and that I sought 
her 
With purpose deeper and more true 
Than idle chips on quiet water. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




REMORSE. 

Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set! 

Scenes never, never to return! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn! 

From every joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I'll wander through; 

And hopeless, comfortless, I '11 mourn 
A faithless woman's broken vow. 



TO AN OLD SWEETHEART AFTER 
HER MARRIAGE. 

Once fondly loved and still remembered 
dear; 
Sweet early object of my youthful 
vows! 
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, 
sincere, — 
Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now 
allows. 

And when you read the simple, artless 
rhymes, 
One kindly sigh for him — he asks no 
more, — 
Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid 
climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's 
roar. 



THE HERMIT. 

If thou hast known false love's vexation, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation, 

And makes thee pine, 
Oh! how must thou lament thy station, 

And envy mine. 



TRUST ME. 



Feel but what this heart is feeling, 
Frankly place thy hand in mine; 
Trust me, love, the tie which binds us 
no fragile rosy twine. 




THE BRAVE DESERVES THE 
FAIR. 

To leave thee behind me my heart is sore 

pain'd; 
By ease that 's inglorious no fame can be 

gain'd; 
For beauty and love 's the reward of the 

brave, 
And one should deserve it before he should 

crave. 



FANNY, MINE. 

Let mine eyes the farewell say 
That my lips can utter ne'er; 

Fain I 'd be a man to-day, 

Yet 't is hard, oh ! hard to bear. 

Mournful in an hour like this 
Is love's sweetest pledge, I ween ; 

Cold upon thy mouth the kiss, 
Faint thy fingers' pressure e'en. 

Oh, what rapture to my heart 
Used each stolen kiss to bring! 

As the violets joy impart, 
Gathered in the early spring. 

Now no garlands I entwine, 
Now no roses pluck for thee, 

Though 't is Spring-time, Fanny, mine, 
Dreary Autumn 'tis to me. 



TO THE DISTANT ONE. 

And have I lost thee evermore? 

Hast thou, oh fair one! from me flown? 
Still in mine ear sounds, as of yore, 

Thine every word, thine every tone. 

As when at morn the wanderer's eye 
Attempts to pierce the air in vain, 

When hidden in the azure sky 

The lark high o'er him chants his strain. 

So do I cast my troubled gaze 

Through bush, through forest, o'er the 
lea; 
Thou art invoked by all my lays: 

Oh! come, then, loved one, back to me. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHEN STARS ARE IN THE 
QUIET SKIES. • 

When stars are in the quiet skies, 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes 

As stars look on the sea; 
For thoughts, like waves that glide by 
night, 

Are stillest when they shine. 
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light 

Beneath the heaven of thine. 

There is an hour when angels keep 

Familiar watch o'er men ; 
When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep — 

Sweet spirit, meet me then! 
There is an hour when holy dreams 

Through slumber fairest glide, 
And in that mystic hour it seems 

Thou shouldst be by my side. 

My thoughts of thee too sacred are 

For daylight's common beam: 
I can but know thee as my star, 

My angel and my dream. 
When stars are in the quiet skies, 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

As stars look on the sea. 



MINERVA. 



She is not fair to outward view, 

As many maidens be; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me. 
Oh ! then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold, 
To mine they ne'er reply; 

And yet I cease not to behold 
The love-light in her eye. 

Her very frowns are fairer far 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 



COUPLET. 



h 






When blamed for doing something good, 
I take it in an easy mood. 



NAY, TEMPT ME NOT. 

Nay, tempt me not to love again, 

There was a time when love was sweet; 
Dear Nea, had I known thee then, 

Our souls had not been slow to meet! 
But oh ! this weary heart hath run, 

So many a time the rounds of pain, 
Not even for thee, thou lovely one ! 

Would I endure such pangs again, 



If there be climes where never yet 
The print of beauty's foot was set, 
Where man may pass his loveless nights 
Unfever'd by her false delights, 
Thither ray wounded soul would fly, 
Where rosy cheek or radiant eye 
Should bring no more their bliss, their 

pain, 
Or fetter me to thee again ! 



Dear absent girl! whose eyes of light, 
Though little priz'd when all my own, 

Now float before me, soft and bright 
As when they first enamoring shone! 

How many hours were idly past, 

As if such bliss must ever last, 

Unmindful of the fleeting day, 

Have I dissolved life's dream away! 

Say, Nea, dear! couldst thou, like her, 
When warm to feel and quick to err, 
Of loving fond, of roving fonder, 
My thoughtless soul might wish to wan- 
der; 
Couldst thou, like her, the wish reclaim, 

Endearing still, reproaching never, 
Till all my heart should burn with shame, 

And be thy own more fix'd than ever? 



Nea! the heart which she forsook, 

For thee were but a worthless shrine — 

Go, lovely girl, that angel look 

Must thrill a soul more pure than thine. 

Oh! thou shalt be all else to me 

That heart can feel, or tongue can 
feign; 

I '11 praise, admire and worship thee, 
But will not, dare not, love again 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HER COTTAGE. 

Although I enter not, 
Yet round about the spot, 

Sometimes I hover; 
And at the sacred gate, 
With longing eyes I wait, 

Expectant of her. 

My lady comes at last, 
Timid, and stepping fast, 

And hastening hither; 
With modest eyes downcast, 
She comes, she's here, she's past, 

May heaven go with her. 

But suffer me to pace, 
Round the forbidden place, 

Ling'ring a minute; 
Like outcast spirits, wait, 
And see through heaven's gate, 

Angels within it. 



WE MET. 



We met, and from thy glance a tide 

Of stifling joy flowed into me. 
My heart was wholly by thy side, 

My every breath was breathed for thee. 
A blush was there, as if thy cheek 

The gentlest hues of spring had caught; 
And smiles so kind for me, great powers! 

I hoped, yet I deserved them not. 

But morning came to end my bliss; 

A long, a sad farewell we took. 
What joy! what rapture in thy kiss! 

What depth of anguish in thy look! 
I left thee, sweet, but after me 

Thine eyes through tears looked from 
above: 
Yet to be loved — what ecstacy! 

What ecstacy, ye gods, to love! 



STRANGE. 



'Tis strange how quickly we the past 

forget, 
That wisdom's self should not be tutor'd 

yet. 




APPREHENSION. 

Sure, I of all men am the first 
That ever was by kindness curs'd, 
Who must my only bliss bemoan, 
And am by happiness undone. 

Had I at distance only seen 
That lovely face, I might have been 
With the delightful object pleas'd, 
And not with all this passion seiz'd. 

When afterwards so near I came 
As to be scorch 'd in beauty's flame, 
To so much softness, so much sense, 
Reason itself made no defense. 

What pleasing thoughts possess'd my 

mind 
When little favors show'd you kind! 
And though, when coldness oft prevail'd, 
My heart would sink and spirits fail'd, 
Yet willingly the yoke I bore, 
And all your chains as bracelets wore. 

At your lov'd feet all day would lie, 
Desiring without knowing why; 
For not yet blest within your arms, 
Who could have thought of half your 
charms ? 



A FAREWELL. 

My fairest child, I have no song to give 
you. 
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and 
gray; 
Yet ere we part one lesson I can learn 
you — 

For every day. 
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be 
clever; 
Do noble things, not dream them all 
day long; 
And- so make life, death, and that vast 
forever 

One grand, sweet song. 



DEAR CHLOE. 

See, when you weep, dear Chloe, see, 
The world 's in sympathy with thee. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




FAREWELL TO NANCY. 

One fond kiss, and then we sever! 

One farewell, alas ! forever! 

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 

thee; 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee. 
Who shall say that fortune grieves him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, no cheerful twinkle lights me, 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy — 
Nothing could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her was to love her, 
Love but her, and love forever. 
Had we never loved so kindly, 
Had we never loved so blindly, 
Never met, or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee well, thou first and fairest! 
Fare thee well, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be all the joy and treasure, 
Peace, enjoyment, love and pleasure! 
One fond kiss, and then we sever ! 
One farewell, alas! forever! 



NEW LOVE. 



Say, do beauty's graces youthful, 
Does this form so fair and bright, 

Does this gaze, so kind, so truthful, 
Chain thee with unceasing might? 

Would I tear me from her boldly — 

Courage take, and fly her coldly; 

Back to her I 'm f orwith led 

By the path I seek to tread. 

By a thread I ne'er can sever, 
For 'tis twined with magic skill, 

Doth the cruel maid forever 
Hold me fast against my will. 

While those magic charms confine me, 

To her will I must resign me. 

Ah, the change in truth is great! 

Love, kind love, release me straight! 



NATURE. 




Nature alone can love inspire; 
Art is vain to move desire. 



TRUE LOVE. 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 
Or bends with the remover to re- 
move: — 

no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 

That looks on tempests, and is never 
shaken; 
It is the star to every wandering bark 
Whose worth 's unknown, although his 
heights be taken. 

Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips 
and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass 
come; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and 
weeks, 
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of 
doom: — 
If this be error, and upon me proved, 

1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 



THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH. 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead, 
Than you shall hear the sullen bell 

Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms 
to dwell. 

Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it; fori love you 
so, 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be 
forgot, 
If thinking on me then shuuld cause 
you woe. 

if, I say, you look upon this verse, 
When I perhaps compounded am with 
clay, 

Do not so much as my poor name re- 
hearse, 
But let your love even with my life 
decay; 

Lest the wide world should look into your 
moan, 

And mock you with me after I am gone, 




9 



o>- 



298 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




I AM NO MORE WHAT I HAVE 
BEEN. 

I am no more what I have been, 

Nor can regret restore my prime; 
My summer years and beauty's sheen 

Are in the envious clutch of Time. 
Above all gods I owned thy reign, 

Love! and served thee to the letter; 
But, if my life were given again, 

Methinks I yet could serve thee better. 



THEY BOEE HIM TO HIS MOTHER. 

They bore him to his mother, and he lay 
Upon her lap till night, unconscious 
yet; 
His little face was pale and cold as clay, 
His tiny hand was clenched, his eyes 
were set. 

The anguished mother wept to see him 
lie 
As though his spirit from this world 
had fled, 
And many a sob suppressed, and heartfelt 
sigh, 
And laid him gently on his little bed. 

The feeble throbbing of his little heart 
alone 
Bade hope revive within that mother's 
breast, 
And in her eyes fond expectation shone, 
As she with lips and hands her boy 
caressed. 

" tell me dearest, speak ! " the mother 
cried, 
"Tell mother, darling, what befel her 
pet;" 
And languidly the "darling" thus re- 
plied: 
"0 mamma, dear, I smoked a cigaret!" 



OBSTINACY. 



'T is better far to own your errors past, 
Than cling to notions that are wrong at 
last. 



CHLORIS AND FANNY. 

Chloris! if I were Persia's king, 

I 'd make my graceful queen of thee; 

While Fanny, wild and artless thing, 
Should but thy humble handmaid be. 

There is but one objection in it — 
That, verily, I 'm much afraid 

I should, in some unlucky minute, 
Forsake the mistress for the maid. 



IN A QUANDARY. 

ANXIOUS BRIDE. 

" We've come now, Mr. Preacher, 

As others oft have done; 
Fori am very anxious 

For you to make us one. 
The wedding-ring is ready — 

The license, too, is here; 
Our right to be united, 

To every one is clear." 

i MINISTER. ' 

" say not so, my lady, 

When to his shame I find 
The man is now in liquor, 

And does not know his mind! 
But come again to-morrow, 

When he has sober grown, 
And I will surely wed you, 

And he shall be your own. 

BRIDE. 

" Show pity, Mr. Preacher, 

And wed us now I pray, 
And do not keep us waiting 

Until another day; 
For if, upon the morrow 

The man should sober be, 
And know what he was doing, 

He would not marry me! " 



IF A BODY. 



If a body greet a body with a knowing 

wink, 
Should a body join a body going for a 

drink ? 




I 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




k 



VOICES 0/ THE NIGHT. 

When bed-time comes and curtains fall, 
And round I go the doors to lock, 

Ere lamps go out, my wife doth call — 
"Remember, dear, to Avind the clock." 

When boots are off, and for the day 
All irksome cares seem put to rout, 

I hear wife's voice from dreamland say — 
" Be sure you put the kitten out!" 

When stretched between the sheets I lie, 
And heavy lids have ceased to wink, 

From trundle-bed there comes a cry — 
"I want a dwink! I want a dwink!" 



ADAM AND EVE. 

We walked in Eden, lady fair; 

I dare not say how long ago; 
I praised the glory of your hair, 

For you were lovely then, I know. 
I loved and swore you were to me 

The only woman in the world, 
But when I bent upon my knee 

Your little lips with laughter curled. 
Ah, me! my discontented Eve! 

Ah! hapless me, a love-sick Adam, 
I loved you deeply, I believe, 

And yet you scorned me, my dear 
madam. 

You have an Eden, lady, still, 

With scores of Adams at your feet, 
And doubtless all their hearts you fill, 

And doubtless they believe you sweet. 
And yet you squeeze my fingers, too, 

And look with your bewitching eyes, 
But what am I to such as you? 

You cannot care for such a prize. 
No, no, my sweet, my tempting Eve, 

I cannot, dare not, be your Adam, 
To other lovers let me leave 

The apple, — if you please, dear madam. 



THE ANCIENTS. 

The ancients thought no single goddess 

fit 
To reign at once o'er beauty and o'er wit. 



CYNTHIA. 

Engagiag Cynthia's arm'd with every 
grace; 

Her lovely mind shines cheerful through 
her face. 

What angels are, when we desire to know, 

We form a thought by such as she 
below, 

And thence conclude they're bright be- 
yond compare, 

Compos'd of all that's good, and all 
that 's fair. 



I HATE. 



I hate small gifts, a man that's poor and 

proud, 
The young who talk incessantly and loud; 
I hate in low-bred company to be; 
I hate the man that has not courtesy. 
A doting husband or a tradesman's son, 
Who apes a noble and would pass [t or 

one. 
I hate too little water, and too much 

wine, 
A prosperous villain, and a false divine, 
A lazy lout who '11 cast all work aside; 
A flirting girl, all frippery and pride; 
Him who prefers his handmaid to his 

wife, 
And her who makes her groom her lord 

for life; 
The man who kills his horse with wanton 

speed, 
And him who fails his friend in time of 

need. 



SAPHRONA. 



Thrice lov'd, Saphrona, heavenly fair, 
For thee, a servant's form I wear; 
Though blest with wealth, and nobly 

born, 
For thee both wealth and birth I scorn: 

Trust me, fair maid, my constant flame 
Forever will remain the same; 
My love, that ne'er will cease, my love, 
Shall equal to thy beauty prove. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




PAINTER. 

Painter, if thou canst safely gaze 

On all the wonders of that face; 

If thou hast charms to guard a heart, 

Secure by secrets of thy art; 

0! teach the mighty charm that we 

May gaze securely, too, like thee. 



VIERNA, FAIREST ONE. 

Of all sweet birds I love the most 

The lark and nightingale; 
For they the first of all awake, 

The opening spring with songs to hail. 

And I, like them, when silently 

Each troubadour sleeps on, 
Will wake me up and sing of love 

And thee, Vierna, fairest one ! 

The rose on thee its bloom bestowed, 

The lily gave its white, 
And nature, when it planned thy form, 

A model framed of fair and bright. 

For nothing, sure, that could be given, 

To thee hath been denied; 
That there each thought of love and joy 
I' Infglad perfection might reside. 



DUETTO. 



The swain, his nymph possessing, 
The nymph, her swain caressing, 
Shall still improve the blessing, 

Forever kind and true. 
While rolling years are flying, 
Love, Hymen's lamp supplying, 
With fuel never dying, 

Shall still the flame renew. 



A SONG. 



Would you gain the tender creature, 
Softly, gently, kindly treat her, 

Suffering is the lover's part: 

Beauty by constraint possessing, 

You enjoy but half the blessing, 

Lifeless charms without the heart. 




THE SHAD. 

When the angel made shad 
The Devil was mad, 

For it seemed such a feast of delight; 
So to ruin the scheme 
He jumped into the stream, 

And stuck in the bones out of spite. 



TO MISS A. G. 

Bright though you are, of race victorious 

sprung, 
By wits ador'd, and by court-poets sung; 
Unmov'd I hear your person call'd divine, 
I see your features uninspiring shine; 
A softer fair, my soul to transport warms, 
And she once nam'd, no other nymph has 

charms. 



OLEANDER. 



To touch the brave Oleander's heart, 
The graces all in her conspire; 

Love arms her with its surest dart, 
Apollo, with his lyre. 

In tender sighs he silence breaks, 
The fair, his flame approves; 

Consenting blushes warms her cheeks, 
She smiles, she yields, she loves. 



DEAR ADONIS. 

Dear Adonis, beauty's treasure, 
Now my sorrow, once my pleasure; 

return to Venus' arms! 
Venus never will forsake thee; 
Let the voice of love o'ertake thee, 

And revive thy drooping charms. 



TILLIE. 



While on your blooming charms I gaze, 
Your tender lips, your soft enchanting 
eyes, 

And all the Venus in your face, 

I 'm filled with pleasure and surprise 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HAPPY THAT MAN. 

Oh! happy is that man and blest! 

No wonder that it pride him! 
Whose own dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes sitting down beside him ! 
With arm reposed on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him, 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

And hand upon her bosom. 



NOT AS I SHOULD BE. 

God knows, I 'm not the thing I should be, 
Nor am I even what I could be, 
But twenty times I rather would be 

An atheist clean, 
Than under gospel colors hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass, 
An honest man may like a lass, 
But mean revenge and malice false, 

He '11 still disdain; 
And then cry zeal for gospel laws, 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth, 
They talk of mercy, grace and truth, 
For what? to give their malice skouth, 

On some poor wight; 
And hunt him down, o'er right and rath, 

To ruin straight. 



THOU KNOWEST I LOVE THEE. 

Full well thou knowest I love thee, dear! 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear? 
Oh! did not love exclaim, "Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so." 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair, 
Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear 

No love but thine my heart shall know. 



ANOTHER WORLD. 

If there 's another world, I '11 live in bliss, 
there is not, I '11 make the best of this. 




FAIR MAID. IN CHURCH. 

Fair maid! you need not take the hint, 

Nor idle texts pursue; 
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant, 

Not angels such as you. 



YE HYPOCRITES. 

Ye hypocrites, are these your pranks? 
To sunder men, and give God thanks ! 
For shame! give o'er — proceed no fur- 
ther — 
God won't accept your thanks for murder. 

I murder hate by field or flood, 

Though glory's name may screen us; ' 

In wars at home I '11 spend my blood, 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore 

Are social peace and plenty; 
I'm better pleased to make one more 

Than be the death of twenty. 



FAIR ELIZA. 



Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

One kind look before we part, 
Rue on thy despairing lover! 

Canst thou break his faithful heart? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise! 

Thee, dear maid, have I offended? 

The offense is loving thee: 
Canst thou wreck his peace forever 

Who for thine would gladly die? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in every throe; 
Turn again, thov lovely maiden, 

One sweet smile on me bestow. 



A MAN MAY. 

A man may drink and not be drunk; 

A man may fight and not be slain; 
A man may kiss a bonny lass, 

And aye be welcome back again. 



Ej 






fc 



302 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



SHE IS NOT FAIR. 

She is not fair to outward view, 

As many maidens be; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me. 
Oh, then I saw her eye was bright, 
A well of love, a spring of flight. 

But now her looks are coy and cold ■ 
To mine they ne'er reply; 

And yet I cease not to behold 
The love-light in her eye: 

Her very frowns are sweeter far 

Than smiles of other maidens are. 



AMONG THE WILD MOUNTAINS. 

Not Gowrie's valleys, nor Forth's sunny 

shores, 
To me have the charms of yon wild mossy 

moors; 
For there by a lonely, sequester'd, clear 

stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought, and 

my dream. 

Among the wild mountains shall still be 

my path, 
A stream foaming down its own green 

narrow strath; 
For there, with my lassie, the day long I 

rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift 

hours of love. 

She is not the fairest, although she is 

fair; 
Of nice education, but small in her share; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be; 
But I love the dear lassie, because she 

loves me. 

To beauty, what man but must yield him 
a prize, 

In her armour of glances, and blushes, 
and sighs? 

And when wit and refinement have pol- 
ished their darts, 

They dazzle our eye as they flee to our 
hearts. 



But kiudness, sweet kindness, in the fond 

sparkling eye, 
Has lustre outshining the diamond or 

sky; 
And the heart-beating love as I 'm clasp'd 

in her arms — 
Oh! these are my lassie's all-conquering 

charms ! 



BENDEMEER'S STREAM. 

There 's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's 
stream, 
And the nightingale sings round it all 
the night long; 
In the time of my childhood 't was like a 
sweet dream, 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's 
song. 

That bower and its music I never forget, 
But oft when alone in the bloom of 
the year, 
I think — is the nightingale singing there 
yet? 
Are the roses still bright by the calm 
Bendemeer? 

No, the roses soon withered that hung 
o'er the wave, 
But some blossoms were gathered, 
while freshly they shone, 
And a dew was distilled from their flow- 
ers, that gave 
All the fragrance of summer, when 
summer was gone. 

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it 
dies, 
An essence that breathes of it many a 
year; 
Thus bright to my soul, as 't was then to 
my eyes, 
Is that bower on the banks of the calm 
Bendemeer. 



KIND. 



A bachelor bequeathed his property 
to the girls who had refused him; for to 
them, said he, I owe all my earthly hap- 
piness. 



V 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



303 



THE BLUE LAWS OF CONNECTI- 
CUT. 

The fatuous Blue Laws of Connecticut, 
about which so much is heard, read as 
follows. They were enacted by the 
people of the " Dominion of New Haven," 
and became known as the Blue Laws be- 
cause they were printed on blue paper. 

The Governor and Magistrates con- 
vened in General Assembly, are the su- 
preme power, under God, of this Inde- 
pendent Dominion. 

From the determination of the Assem- 
bly no appeal shall be made. 

No one shall be a freeman or give a 
vote unless he be converted and a mem- 
ber of one of the churches allowed in the 
Dominion. 

Each freeman will swear by the blessed 
God to bear true allegiance to this Do- 
minion, and that Jesus is the only king. 

No dissenter from the established wor- 
ship of this Dominion shall be allowed to 
give a vote for electing of magistrates or 
any other officer. 

No food or lodging shall be offered to 
a heretic. 

No one to cross a river on the Sabbath 
but an authorized Clergyman. 

No one shall travel, cook victuals, make 
beds, sweep houses, cut hair or shave, on 
the Sabbath day. 

No one shall kiss his or her children on 
Sabbath or fasting days. 

The Sabbath day shall begin at sunset 
Saturday. 

Every rateable person who refuses to 
pay his proportion to support the minis- 
ter of the town or parish shall be fined 
five pounds and four shillings every 
quarter. 



Whoever wears clothes trimmed with 
gold or silver or bone lace above one 
shilling per yard, shall be prosecuted by 
the grand jurors, and the selectmen shall 
tax the estate three hundred pounds. 

Whosoever bring cards or dice into 
this dominion shall pay a fine of five 
pounds. 

No one shall eat mince pies, dance, play 
cards, or play any instrument of music 
except the drum, trumpet, and jewsharp. 

No gospel minister shall join people in 
marriage. The magistrate shall join 
them in marriage, as he may do it with 
less scandal to Christ's church. 

When parents refuse their children 
convenient marriages, the magistrate 
shall determine this point. 

Adultery shall be punished with death. 

A man who strikes his wife shall pay a 
fine of ten pounds. 

A woman who strikes her husband 
shall be punished as the law directs. 

No man shall court a maid by person 
or by letter without obtaining the con- 
sent of her parents; £5 penalty for the 
first offense, £19 for the second, and for 
the third, imprisonment during the 
pleasure of the court. 



MY JEAN. 



Though cruel fate should bid us part 

Far as the pole and line, 
Her dear ideal round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 
Though mountains rise, and deserts howl, 

And oceans roar between, 
Yet dearer than my deathless soul 

I still would love my Jean. 





A HOOK OF POEMS 




THE FOUNTAIN. 

It was a well 
Of whitest marble, white as from the 

quarry; 
And richly wrought with many a high 

relief, 
Greek sculpture — in some earlier day 

perhaps 
A tomb, and honor'd with a hero's ashes. 
The water from the rock fill'd, overflow'd 

it; 
Then dashed away playing the prodigal, 
And soon was lost — stealing, unseen, 

unheard, 
Through the long grass and round the 

twisted roots 
Of the aged trees; discovering where it 

ran 
By the fresh verdure. Overcome with 

heat, 
I threw me down; admiring as I lay, 
That shady nook, a singing place for 

birds, 
That grove so intricate, so full of flowers, 
More than enough to please a child 

a-Maying. 
The sun was down, a distant convent- 
bell 
Ringing the Angelus; and now approach'd 
The hour for stir and village gossip 

there, 
The hour when Rebecca came, when 

from the well 
She drew with such alacrity to serve 
The stranger and his camels. Soon I 

heard 
Footsteps; and lo, descending by a path 
Trodden for ages, many a nymph ap- 
peared, 
Appeared and t vanished, bearing on her 

head 
Her earthen pitcher. It called up the 

day 
Ulysses landed there; and long I gazed, 
Like one awaking in a distant time. 

At length there came the loveliest of 
them all, 
Her little brother dancing down before 
her; 
ever as he spoke, which he divd eer, 




Turning and looking up in warmth of 
heart 

And brotherly affection. Stopping there, 

She join'd her rosy hands, and, filling 
them 

With the pure element, gave him to drink; 

And, while he quenched his thirst, stand- 
ing on tip-toe, 

Look'd down on him with a sister's smile, 

Nor stirr'd till he had done, fix'd as a 
statue. 

Then, hadst thou seen them as they 

stood, Can ova, 
Thou hadst endowed them with immortal 

youth; 
And they had evermore lived undivided, 
Winning all hearts — of all thy works 

the fairest. 



MY JEAN. 



Falsest of womankind, canst thou declare 

All thy fond plighted vows fleeting as 
air! 

To thy new lover hie, laugh o'er thy per- 
jury, 

Then in thy bosom try; what peace is 
there ? 



A GOOD JOKE. 

An-absent minded lawyer sat down to 
write a deed, and began it " Know one 
woman," when his clerk immediately in- 
terrupted him: "You are wrong. It 
should be, 'Know all men.'" "Well, 
never mind," retorted the old crab, "if one 
woman knows it, all men will soon know 
it!" 



A PROMPT REPLY. 

The bride was led up the broad aisle 
Got up in the most fitting style, 

When asked if she 'd be 

A true wife to he, 
She promptly replied, " I should smile." < 



i 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




RICHES. 

The richest man, whatever his lot, 
Is he who's content with what he has 
got. 



PRAISE OF LITTLE WOMEN. 

I wish to make my sermon hrief, — to 
shorten my oration, — 

For a never ending sermon is my utter 
detestation; 

I like short women, — suits at law with- 
out procrastination, — 

And am always most delighted with 
things of short duration. 

A babhler is a laughing-stock; he 's a 
fool who 's always grinning; 

But little women love so much, one falls 
in love with sinning. 

There are women that are very tall, and 
yet not worth the winning, 

And in the change of short for long, re- 
pentance finds beginning. 

To praise the little women Love besought 
me in my musing; 

To tell their noble qualities is quite be- 
yond refusing: 

So I '11 praise the little women, and you '11 
find the thing amusing; 

They are 1 know, as cold as snow, while 
flames around diffusing. 

They're cold without whilst warm with- 
in, the flame of love is raging; 

They're gay and pleasant in the street, — 
soft, cheerful and engaging; 

They're thrifty and discreet at home, — 
The cares of life assuaging: 

All this and more; — try and you'll find 
how true is my presaging. 

In a little precious stone what splendor 
meets the eyes! 

In a little lump of sugar how much of 
sweetness lies! 

So in a little woman love grows and mul- 
tiplies: 

You recollect the proverb says, — A word 
unto the wise. 
20 



A pepper corn is very small, but seasons 

every dinner 
More than all other condiments, although 

'tis sprinkled thinner: 
Just so a little woman is, if Love will let 

you win her, — 
There 's not a joy in all the world you 

will not find within her. 

And as within the little rose you find^the 

richest dyes, 
And in a little grain of gold much price 

and value lies, 
As from a little balsam much odor doth 

arise, 
So in a little woman there 's a taste of 

Paradise. 



FLORA. 



If thou hast learned like me to love, — 
away! 
Thou who hast borne the murmurs of 
thy cry ! 
Hence! — no demur! — and to my Flora 
say, 

Say that" I die!" 
Flora once knew what bitter tears I shed; 
Flora once wept to see my sorrows flow; 
Flora once loved me; — but I dread, I 
dread 

Her anger now. 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

Behold the hour, the time arrive, 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart! 

Severed from thee can I survive? 

But fate has willed, and we must part. 

I'll often greet the surging swell 
Some distant joy will often hail; 

E'en here I took the last farewell; 
I fear'd my heart would surely fail. 



Happy, dear Mary, I will say, 

Wherever now your path may be! 

Happy by night, and yet by day 
But tell me will you think of me 




©8^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






cP 



N 



AMERICA. 

Goodness, gracious, what a nation 

Is America the grand: 
Surely, she beats all creation! 

"Hail Columbia, happy land." 
With her giant mountain ranges, 

And her prairies spreading free, 
She is proof against all changes, 

She 's the " Land of Liberty." 



TIBBIE, I HAVE SEEN THE DAY. 

Tibbie, I have seen the day 
Ye would not been so shy; 

For lack of gear ye slighted me, 
And passed me idly by. 

Yestreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spake not, but went by like stoure; 
You slighted me because I 'm poor, 
But not a hair care I. 

1 doubt not, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye have the name of clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 

Whene'er ye like to try. 

But sorrow take him that 's so mean, 
Although his purse of coin is clean, 
Who follows any saucy queen 

That looks so proud and high. 

Although a lad were e'er so smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt 
You '11 give your head another flirt, 
And answer him, nay, nay. 

But if he has the name of gear, 
You '11 fasten to him like a burr, 
Though hardly he, for sense or lear, 
Be better than a steer. 

But Tibbie, lass, take my advice, 
Your daddie's gear makes you so nice, 
The devil a one would spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass near yonder park 
I would not give her in her sark 
For thee, with all thy thousand mark! 
Ye need not look so high. 



HOW MANY LIPS. 

How many lips have uttered one sweet 

word — 
Ever the sweetest word in any tongue! 
How many listening hearts have wildly 

stirred, 
While burning blushes to the soft 

cheeks sprung, 
And dear eyes deepening with a light 

divine, 
Were lifted up, as thine are now to mine! 

How oft the night with silence and per- 
fume, 
Has hushed the world that heart might 
speak to heart, 

And made in each dim haunt of leafy 
gloom 
A trysting place where love might meet 
and part, 

And kisses fall unseen on lips and brow, 

As on thine, sweet, my kisses linger now! 



ALONE I WALKED. 

Alone I walked the ocean strand; 
A pearly shell was in my hand, 
I stooped and wrote upon the sand, 

My name, the year, the day. 
As onward from the spot I passed, 
A lingering look behind I cast — 
A wave came rolling high and fast 

And washed my lines away. 

And so, methought, it soon may be 
With everything on earth of me; 
A wave of dark oblivous sea 

Will roll across the place, 
Where I have trod the sandy shore 
Of Time, and been to be no more, 

Nor leave no track nor trace. 
But with Him who counts the sands 
And holds the waters in His hands, 
I know a lasting record stands 

Inscribed against my name. 



ACT. 

Please act upon this prudent plan, 
Say little and hear all you can. 



9/ 




\\' 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



307 



<P 



A FIG FOR THOSE. 

A fig for those by law protected! 

Liberty's a glorious feast! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the priest. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods and fair your 
flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There summer first unfolds her robes, 

And there the longest tarry; 
For there I took the last farewell 

Of my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk ! 

flow rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
And underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasped her to my bosom! 
The golden hours on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary! 

With many a vow aud lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was full tender; 
And, pledging oft to meet again, 

We tore ourselves-asunder; 
But, oh! fell Death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower so early! — 
Now green 's the sod, and cold 's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary! 

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I oft have kissed so fondly! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me so kindly! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust 

That heart that loved me dearly — 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary! 



TRUE LOVE. 

With the roses, Love, complete, 
Must be God-like, strong and sweet. 



IF HE SHOULD COME. 

Dear heart! If he should come to-day 
(Still loyal as of old, I know,) 

And clasp my trembling hand, and say 
The words he said one year ago — 

Dare I to my own soul confess 

These wayward lips would answer, yes. 



GLOOMY NOVEMBER. 

Once more I hail thee, thou gloomy 
November! 
Once more I hail thee, with sorrow and 
care; 
Sad was the parting thou mak'st me re- 
member — 
Parting with Mary, to never meet mair. 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful 
pleasure, 
Hope beaming mild on the soft part- 
ing hour; 
But the dire feeling, oh, farewell forever! 
Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

Till the last leaf of the summer is 

flown; 

Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is 

gone! 

Still, as I hail thee, thou gloomy Novem- 
ber, 
Still shall I hail thee with sorrow and 
care ; 
For sad was the parting thou mak'st me 
remember, 
Parting with Mary, oh, ne'er to meet 
mair. 



HAPPINESS. 



For me, I am full happy. Here is space 
Enough for wildest bliss; gay youth is 
mine; 
And all I need of heaven — is Julia's 
face; 
And all I need of love — her love divine. 




308 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P 



JENNIE. 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But pleasure, they have none for me, 
While cai-e my heart is wringing. 

I cannot tell, I will not tell, 

I dare not for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it longer. 

I see thee graceful, straight and tall, 

I see thee sweet and bonny; 
But oh, what what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnnie. 

To see thee in another's arms, 

In love to lie and languish, 
'T would be my death, that will be seen, 

My heart would burst with anguish. 

But, Jennie, say thou wilt be mine, 
Say thou love none before me; 

And all my days of life to come 
I '11 gratefully adore thee. 



HER LOVERS. 

My first, my verv first, his name was 

Will.— 
A handsome fellow, fair, with curling 

hair 
And lovely eyes. I have his locket still. 
He went to Galveston and settled 

there — 
At least, I heard so. Ah, dear me — dear 

me! 
How terribly in love he used to be. 



The second, Robert Hill, he told his love 
The first night that we met. 'T was 
at a ball — 
A foolish boy. He carried off my glove. 
We sat out half the dances in the hall, 
And flirted in the most outrageous way. 
Ah, me! how mother scolded all next 
day. 



The third woke up my heart. From 

night till morn, 
From morn till night again I dreamed 

of him ; 
I treasured up a rosebud he had worn; 
My tears and kisses made his picture 

dim. 
Strange that I cannot feel the old, old 

flame, 
When I remember Paul — that was his 

name. 

The fourth and fifth were brothers — 

twins at that; 
Good fellows, — kind, devoted, clever, 

too. 
'Twas rather shabby to refuse them 

flat — 
Both in one day; but what else could 

I do? 
My heart was still with Paul, and he had 

gone 
Yacht-sailing with the Misses Garretson. 

He never cared for me — I found that 

out — 
Despite the foolish clingings of my 

hope; 
A few visits proved it beyond a doubt. 
I steeled my heart; I would not pine or 

mope, 
But masked myself in gaiety, and went 
To grace his wedding when the cards 

were sent. 

So those are all my lovers. My husband? 
Oh, 
I met him down in Florida one fall — 
Rich, middle-aged, and prosy, as you 
know: 
He asked me, I accepted; that is all. 
A kind, good, soul; he worships me; but 

then 
I never count him in with other men. 



WHAT CAN I DO ? 

Now what can I be doing, 
Since ended is my wooing? 

She I adore will look no more 
On me, to whom such wrong she's done; 
I should be glad our love is run. 



'i 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




309 



WHY HE KISSED THE BABY. 

I watched as they stood together there, 

And I could n't help pause to wonder 
If he, with his wealth and stylish air, 

Would marry that widow down yonder, 
She did look happy and pretty too; 

(If I were a man I'd love her) 
Her hair shone like gold, and her eyes 
were 

As the summer skies above her; 

Her baby sat crowing upon her knee, 

A bright little three-year old prattler; 
And now if I tell what I saw that day, 

You must never call me a tattler: 
I saw him stoop down close, close to her 
face, 

I was almost too curious, may be, 
I thought he was going to kiss her I 'm 
sure, 

But he only kissed the baby. 

I saw him again as he came one day, 

And they went to the church together; 
I watched from my window over the 
way — 
'T was beautiful, sun-shiny weather, 
She had a pink dress and a bonnet of 
white — 
She did n't wear black any longer; 
As all this burst forth on my wondering 
sight, 
Curiosity kept growing stronger. 

And so I just put on my bonnet and 
shawl 
And went down, although 't was hot; 
The church door was open, and when I 
got there 
The parson had just tied the knot. 
I'm sure I don't know how it all come 
about, 
But it might have been just this way, 
may be: 
I think that sometime he made a mistake, 
And kissed her instead of the baby. 



IF. 

If a foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



EDUCATION A FOINE THING. 

An Irishman found a government 
blanket recently, and, rolling it up, put 
it under his arm and walked off saying, 
"Yis, that's moin, U. for Patrick, and S. 
for McCarty; but this larnin's a foine 
thing, for if I had n't any education I 
would n't have been afther foinding me 
blanket." 



STRONG LOVE. 



I love the woman with so true a love 
That if her silken robe were changed for 

rags, 
And she were driven out to stony wilds 
Barefoot, a scorned wanderer, I would 

kiss 
Her ragged garments' edge, and only ask 
For leave to be her slave. 



FROM AFAR. 

Sweet, that I see thee when thy dimpled 

smile 
Breaks fresh across the silver, misty morn, 
And when thy sunny eyes 
Shame all the sunny skies, 
And no rose lovely as thy lips is born — 
That is enough. 

Sweet, that I hear thee when thy mellow 

voice 
Floats down the twilight in half-whisper'd 
song, 
While every wren and thrush, 
And all the robins hush, 
And listen like my silent heart, and 
long — 

That is enough. 

Sweet, that I dream of thee in holy 

night, 
When the tired world hath rocked itself 
to sleep, 
And when my yearning heart 
Lets day and care depart, 
And findeth rest on love's unbroken 
deep — 

That is enough. 



r> 




310 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




DEAR CASTOLIN. 

Dear Castolin, your wail hath been 

Of much concern to me; 
I am a bach, in hopes to catch 

A charmer just like thee. 
'Tis of such charms as those you speak 

That I am ever fond; 
In me you '11 find the charms you seek, 

With yours to correspond. 

Your nose and eyes are what I prize, 

Your mouth my own will fit; 
They seem to correspond in size, 

My kiss shall cover it. 
While on your face, with pride I '11 trace 

The amber freckles there, 
In contrast sweet, with frizzes neat, 

In fire-locks of your hair. 

Your tiny hand does just expand 

Within an inch of mine; 
My bunioned foot just fills a boot 

That measures two and nine. 
'T is true. I am not just as short, 

Nor may not be as strong; 
Of that we need not care about, 

I guess we'll get along. 

I've seen five summers more than you, 

So, if we can agree, 
I '11 undertake to see you through 

This life cpiite happily. 
And oh, to you won't I be true! 

Who could not faithful be, 
Throughout the strife and cares of life, 

To such a wife as thee? 



MY BEAUTIFUL BOY. 

The chair by the hearth stands empty, 

Where at eve he used to rest, 
And recount the day's sports and trials, 
With his hand in mine close pressed: 
How I loved to trace, in his upturned 
face, 
The future all glowing with joy; 
For the world held naught so sweet, I 
thought, 
> As the love of my beautiful boy. 



AS STRANGERS MEET. 

Was it a dream? Oh summer skies 

Smile softly down on us once more! 
And golden robin, blithe and sweet, 

Your silvery benedictions pour! 
Oh, reapers, swing your your blades 
again 

In harvest fields of burnished gold, 
And, wood-dove, sing your tender strain 

As once you sang iu days of old! 

For then we met as lovers meet — 

As happy lovers, fond and true. 
The brooklet sang a love-song sweet, 

The skies had donned their brightest 
hue, 
And as we traced on love's fair page 

The vows that echoed in each heart, 
We little dreamed the time would come 

When we should drift so far apart! 

But, ah! the flowers can never bloom 

For us as in those rapturous days, 
For now we meet as strangers meet, 

With cold, estranged, averted gaze. 
The ashes of our perished love, 

From which the smouldering fire has 
fled, 
Are scattered by the winds of heaven — 

Sole memory of the hopes now dead. 

And yet, does there not come one thrill 

Across the widening gulf of time, 
To 'mind us of those happier days 

Amid a fair Arcadian clime ? 
Does there not come one 
thought 

To bridge the gulf — alas! too late 
That we might yet be lovers true, 

But for the ruthless hand of fate? 

Ah, well! the golden dream has fled! 

The blue has faded from our sky; 
The ashes of our love lie dead, 

And we are strangers, you and I. 
No more beneath the skies of June, 

No more amid the summer flowers 
Can we reclasp the broken links 

Of that fond, fated love of ours. 



maddening 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



311 ^ 



APPEARANCES ARE DECEIVING. 

I have just about concluded, after figur- 
ing quite a spell, 
That appearances do n't govern, and that 

blood don't always tell. 
Sometimes the shallow ploughing will 

raise the largest crop, 
And its not the tallest maple always runs 

the sweetest sap. 
The tallest stalk of corn that grows in 

cultivated field 
Has not a nubbin on it, nor any sign o' 

yield. 
The likeliest apple tree that stands in my 

neighbor's orchard lot 
Is full of blossoms every spring, but the 

fruit is sure to rot, 
While the crook'd or gnarly seedling, 

standing outside in the road, 
Comes up early every season with a heap- 
ing wagon-load. 
The largest sheep of all the flock may 

grow the coarsest wool; 
The finest horse upon the farm may balk 

before he'll pull; 
The poorest horse upon the track may 

win the longest heat, 
While the one that has most backing 

may be the easiest beat. 
The sweetest drink 1 ever took I drank 

from out a gourd; 
The deepest water in the stream is just 

above the ford. 
So I've about concluded after figuring 

cmite a spell, 
That appearances do n't govern and that 
blood don't always tell. 



TWO TENDER EYES. 

Two tender, dreamy eyes are veiled, 

A regal head is bending low; 
And in the lovely, downcast face 

Sweet, fluctuating blushes glow. 
And looking at her then, I wish 

That I her gentle heart could see, 
Then taking her two hands in mine, 
, I bid her look at me. 
tP. 



Ah, can you wonder, as I look, 

My heart pulsates with tenderest thrills, 
And all my yearning, loving soul 

With sacred, sweet emotion fills? 
For looking in those upturned eyes, 

I read — oh, blessed, happy day! 
My heart is hers and hers is mine 

Forever and for aye. 



ALAS! 



My lady fair deceives me, 
Of joy her loss bereaves me; 
So now must I in sadness try 
Her former kindness to forget, 
And fancy that we never met. 



AN AFTERTHOUGHT. 

'T was in the garden chatting 

Amid the mignonette — 
She with her snowy tatting, 

I with my cigarette. 
I still can see her fingers 

Flit softly in and out; 
With rapture memory lingers 

To view her lips a-pout. 

A happy sunbeam glancing 

Upon a wayward curl 
Set every pulse to dancing, 

And gave my brain a whirl. 
And when she looked up shyly, 

I could not help, you see, 
But stoop and kiss her slyly, 

Behind the apple tree. 

Strange that some mote forever 

Should mar the rays of bliss? 
Though conscious I had never 

Yet won so sweet a kiss. 
Alas! the act of plunder 

So gracefully she bore, 
I could not choose but wonder, 

Had she been kissed before. 



TRUST. 



The man I trust, if shy to me, 
Shall find me as reserv'd as he. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



<r\ 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SO FAIR. 

I do confess thou art so fair, 

I would be over ears in love, 
Had I not found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak thy heart could 
move. 
I do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art so thriftless of thy sweets, 
Thy favors, like the silly wind, 

That kisses everything it meets. 

See, yonder rosebud, rich in dew, 

Among its native briers, so coy; 
How soon it lose its scent and hue 

When pull'd and worn a common toy! 
Such fate, ere long, shall thee betide, 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhile; 
Yet soon thou shalt be thrown aside 

Like any common weed, and vile. 



DELIA. 



Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away! 

To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. 

As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, 

And with deep murmurs fills the sound- 
ing shores. 

Here, where the mountains, less'ning as 
they rise, 

Lose the low vales and steal into the 
skies; 

Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I 
mourn, 

Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! 
For her the feather'd choirs neglect their 

song; 
For her the limes their pleasing shade 

deny: 
For her the lillies hang their heads and 

die. 
Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the 

spring, 
Ye birds, that left by summer cease to 

sing, 
Ye trees that fade when autumn heats 

remove, 
Say, is not absence death to those who 
^> ~ . love? 

J3 & 



Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ! 
Cursed be the fields that cause "My 

Delia's" stay 
Fade every blossom, wither every tree, 
Die every flower, and perish all, but she; 
What have I said? Where'er my Delia 

flies, 
Let spring attend, and sudden flowers 

arise ! 
Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, 
And liquid amber drop from every thorn. 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along! 

The birds shall cease to tune their even- 
ing song, 

The winds to breathe, the waving woods 
to move, 

And streams to murmur, ere I cease to 
love. 

Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty 
swain, 

Not balmy sleep to laborers faint with 
pain, 

Not showers to larks, or sunshine to the 
bee, 

Are half as charming as thy sight to me. 

Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ! 

Come, Delia, come: ah, why this long de- 
lay? 

Through rocks and caves the name of 
Delia sounds, 

Delia, each cave and echoing rock re- 
bounds. 

Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy soothes 
my mind! 

Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? 

She comes, my Delia comes! Now cease 
my lay, 

And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs 
away. 



. DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, 

To love they thought no crime, sir; 
The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang, 



While Damon's heart beat time, sir 



<W£ 



■OCY 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



313 



THERE 'S TIME ENOUGH YET. 

A term full long as the siege of old Troy, 

To win a sweet girl I my time did em- 
ploy. 

Oft begged her the day of our marriage 
to set, 

As often she answered, there 's time 
enough yet, 

I began for to tell her her passions were 

wrong, 
And the more that I scorned to be fooled 

with so long, 
She burst out a laughing at seeing me 

fret, 
And humming a tune, sung, there's time 

enough yet. 

Determined by her to be laughed at no 

more, 
I flew from her presence and bounced out 

of door, 
Resolved of her usage the better to get, 
Or on her my eyes again never to set. 

The very next morning her maid came in 

haste, 
And earnestly begged I'd forget what 

was past, 
Declared her young lady did nothing but 

fret, 
I told her I 'd think on it, 't was time 

enough yet. 

The next, in a letter as long as my arm, 
Declared from her soul she intended no 

harm, 
And begged I the day of our marriage 

would set, 
I wrote her for answer, there' s time 

enough yet. 

But this had scarce gone when a message 

I sent, 
To show in my heart I began to relent, 
I begged I might see her, together we 

met, 
We kissed and were friends again, so we 
> ,-, are yet. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO? 

t 

What can a young lassie, what shall a 
young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do with an 
old man? 
Bad luck on the penny that tempted my 
Minnie 
To sell her poor Jennie for silver and 
land. 

He's always complaining from morning 
to evening; 
He coughs and he wheezes the weary 
day long; 
He's craz'd and he's peevish, his blood it 
is frozen, 
Oh, dreary 's the night with a crazy old 
man! 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he 
cankers, 
I never can please him, do all that I 
can; 
He 's foolish, and jealous of all the young 
fellows; 
Oh, woe on the day I met with an old 



man 



My old Antie Katie upon me takes pity, 

I '11 do my endeavor to follow her plan ! 
I '11 cross him, and wrack him, until I 
heart-break him, 
And then his money '11 get me a young 
man. 



STAR VOWS. 

My darling, when the sunset's gold 

Falls softly on the throbbing sea, 
When from yon towers, so quaint and old, 

The bells of eve chime pensively; 
What time the swallow homeward hies, 

And deep in bosky-curtained dell 
The stately lily dreaming lies, 

Tranced by the south wind's mystic 
spell; 
Ah! then across the leagues that roll — 

Fate's barriers grim, 'tween hearts so 
true — 
Constant as magnet to the pole, 

My thoughts go forth, dear love, to 

you. 







314 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




AS I WAS A-WANDERING. 

As I was a-wandering one midsummer 
evening, 
The pipers and youngsters were making 
their game; 
Among them I espied my faithless young 
lover, 
Which bled all the wounds of my 
dolor again. 

Well, since he has left me, may pleasure 
go with' him ; 
I may be distressed, but I will not com- 
plain; 
I '11 flatter my fancy I may get another, 
My heart it shall never be broken for 
one. 

I could not get sleeping, till morning, for 
weeping, 
The tears trickled down like the hail 
and the rain; 
Had I not got greeting, my heart would 
have broken, 
For, oh! love forsaken 's a tormenting 
pain! 

Although he has left me for greed of the 
silver, 
I '11 never envy him the gains he can 
win; 
I rather would bear all the load of my 
sorrow 
Than ever have acted so faithless to 
him. 



A LAKE OF BEAUTY. 

In the evening, when the sun is setting 
low, 
And its golden rays are falling o'er the 
land, 
To a lake of beauty you and I will go 
And walk upon its smooth and silver 
sand; 
We will gather up the snow-white peb- 
bles there, 
And tell each other we will e'er be true; 
We will put violets in each other's hair, 
You '11 sing to me, and I will sing to 

y> you ' 



KISSES. 

I gave her kisses twenty-four, 
And then she wanted twenty more. 



A LITTLE MAIDEN OF YEARS 
AGO. 

A little maiden, years ago, 

Went to the well one day, 
And then she found a little boy, 

Who, laughing, barred her way. 
His feet were bare, his dancing eyes 

Were bright and black as coal; 
He would not let her pass, he said, 

Until she paid the toll. 

" What is the toll ? " she asked. "A kiss," 

The laughing boy replied. 
" I cannot give you that," she said, 

And quickly stepped aside. 
She tried to pass the rougish youth, 

Who caught her in his arms 
And kissed her, while her beating heart 

Fluttered with strange alarms. 

But then he quickly made amends, 

He drew the water, filled the pail, 
And helped her bear it to her home, 

Each holding by the bail. 
And when they reached the kitchen door 

Her mother smiled to see 
The pretty pair, and thought " Some time 

Will he her lover be?" 

But now he has to pay the toll; 

Each murn before he goes 
She stands before the door, and takes 

A kiss and gives a rose. 
From morn to eve he wears that flower 

Through hours of busy strife, 
And seeing it he thinks of one 

At home — his loving wife. 



OH, BUT TO HEAR. 

Oh, but to hear your pleasant song 
And feel my arms once more about 
you! 

love, how can you stay so long, 
And I so lonely here without you 







a b;ook of poems 




THAT SETTLED IT. 

" Go not," implored the sobbing maid; 

" You are so far above me, 
That if you go I am afraid, 

You will forget to love me." 

"No, no! you need not fear," he said; 

" I '11 never love but you, 
Until I 'm numbered with the dead, 

I vow, I will be true!" 

He went with oft repeated vows, 

A little while he tarried, 
And then returned to claim her hand — 

But found that she was married! 



QUITS. 



There 's never a man with his wife tries 

his wits, 
But he's ever the first in the end to cry 

quits. 






LEONORE'S PROMISE. 

" What shall I bring you, Leonore ! 

A bunch of roses red. 
Or lilies wet with morning dew, 

Or violets in stead ? " 
" Oh bring me what you like," said she, 

"And I will be content." 
I saw her rosy cheeks grow red, 

Although her head was bent. 

"Well, I have brought it, Leonore — 

No better gift could be. 
You promised you would be content, 

And left the choice with me." 
" I will not break my word," she said, 

" What is it you have brought? " 
"A heart that loves you, Leonore, 

And many a tender thought. 

"And you must take it, Leonore, 

And make your promise good. 
Now, will you, dear, or will you not? 

You know you said you would." 
"Well, if I must, I must!" she sang, 

As gayly as a bird; 
" Not, sir, because I want your heart, 

But just to keep my word." 



SO PRETTY AND WITTY. 

Kitty is pretty, and witty, and fair, 
With form like a sylph; and her soft, 

glossy hair 
Falls down in a waviness charming to 

see, 
While the flash of her eyes is a wonder to 

me. 

I look with delight as she steps on the 
street, 

My heart is in tumult whenever we meet; 

For she has a kind word or a smile to be- 
stow, 

Though what it may mean is not easy to 
know. 

She acts as if heedless of trouble or 

care — 
'Tis enough to be pretty, and witty, and 

fair; 
And she seems not to guess how I yield 

to her sway, 
And sigh for her presence when she is 

away. 

An exquisite manner you hardly can 

name 
But adds to the fervor that feeds my 

flame; 
And her face, so enchanting, is linked 

with a spell 
That words and expressions are futile to 

tell. 

To-day, as we met and I ventured to 

speak, 
A timid, shy blush gently colored her 

cheek; 
And now when I tell her, or stammer to 

tell 
My tumult, she listens exceedingly well. 



Oh, Kitty is witty, and pretty, and fair — 
With her there is none in the world to 

compare; 
And when the June roses are blushing 

and sweet, 
I shall know what to say as I sit at her 

feet. <cl 

T3d 



■jr< 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




MAN'S ESTATE. 

Man's estate I reached, but I ne'er forgot 
My little maid companion, or our treas- 
ure spot, 
For there was a lesson in our strange be- 
lief- 
Summer was our banker, winter was our 

thief. 
So it is with friends, aye, sometimes with 

us all, 
True to us in summer, false when in the 
fall. 



LOVE'S AFTER THOUGHT. 

Had I but thought, dear, faithful soul, 

When first I took thy hand in mine, 
That ere away few years could roll 

Mine eyes no more could look in thine, 
I might have clasped so close thy hand, 

And gazed so fondly in those eyes, 
That even death's supreme demand 

Might scarce have freed thee from 
love's ties. 

Had I but thought, dear, patient wife, 

When mutual thought to converse led, 
That like a murd'rous, poisoned knife, 

A deadly ill hung o'er thy head, 
I might have tuned my reckless tongue 

To chime with every tone of thine, 
And to thy faintest accent clung 

As if 't were music most divine. 

Had I but thought, dear, sainted heart, 

When of the future we would speak, 
That thy pure spirit soon would part 

From my rude soul and leave it bleak; 
That soon the soft lids of thine eyes 

Would fall on cheeks of frosty white, 
I might have deemed each breath a prize, 

And ev'ry glance a holy light. 

Had I but thought, fond mother, thou 

Would'st be forever blest 
With peace eternal on thy brow, 

And heavenly babes unto thee pressed, 
I might have asked, as love's last boon, 

That when beside thy God thou stood, 
Thou'st plead for me, and beg Him soon 

To make my soul, as thou wert, good. 



But, no, I thought not as I sat 

And watched thee cull the flowers in 
bloom, 
This blight would come on thee, or that 

We'd share no more their life's per- 
fume; 
Or else, dear wife, I should have pressed 

So closely my sad soul to thine, 
That e'en the sigh that stilled your breast 

Should prove the one to silence mine. 



A MAIDEN'S PSALM OF LIFE. 

Tell me not in idle jingle 
Marriage is an empty dream; 

For the girl is sad that 's single, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real, life is earnest, 

Single blessedness a fib; 
" Man thou art, to man returnest," 

Has been spoken of the rib. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way; 
But to act that each to-morrow 

Finds us nearer marriage day. 

Life is long, and youth is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though light and gay, 

Still like pleasant drums are beating 
Wedding marches all the way. 

In the world's wide field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb driven cattle — 

Be a heroine — a wife. 

Ladies, then be up and doing, 

With your hearts on triumph set; 

Still contriving, still pursuing, 
And each one a husband get. 



LET US NOT DWELL. 

Let us not dwell on thoughts that tell 
The story of our griefs and sadness, 

But let 's recall the great and small 
Acts that have filled our souls with 
gladness. 




•/ 



~^sx 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



317 



THE AFTERMATH. 

It was late summer, and the grass again 
Had grown knee-deep — we stood, my 

love and I, 
Awhile in silence where the streams 
run by; 
Idly we listened to a plaintive strain — 
A young maid singing to her youthful 
swain — 
Ah! me, dead days remembered make 

us sigh, 
And tears will sometimes flow, we know 
' not why. 

" If spring be past," I said, " shall love 

remain ?" 
She moved aside, yet soon she answered 

me, 
Turning her gaze responsive to mine 

own — 
"Spring days are gone," and yet the 

grass we see 
Unto a goodly height again hath 

grown; 
Dear love, just so love's aftermath may 

be, 
A richer growth thanVen spring days 

have known. 



KING DAVID. 

King David, of poetic brief, 

Wrought 'mongst the lasses such mischief 

As filled his after life with grief 

And bloody rants, 
And yet he 's ranked among the chief 

Of all the saints. 



IF I COULD FIND. 

If I could find a little muddy boot, 

Or cap, or jacket on my chamber floor — 
If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot, 

And hear it patter in my house once 
more. 

What then? 




MY SON 

With earnest feelings I will pray, 
For thee when thou art far away. 



YOUNG JESSIE. 

True hearted was he, the sad swain of the 
Yarrow. 
And fair are the maids on the banks of 
the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side of the Nith's wind- 
ing river 
Are lovers as 'faithful and maidens as 
fair. 

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all 
over; 
To equal young Jessie, you seek it in 
vain; 
Grace, beauty and elegance fetter her 
lover, 
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

Oh, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy 
morning, 
And sweet is the lily, at evening close; 
But, in the fair presence of lovely young 
Jessie, 
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 

Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnar- 
ing; 
Enthroned in her eye, he delivers his 
law; 
And still to her charms she alone is a 
stranger — 
Her modest demeanor 's the jewel of all ! 



FRIENDSHIP. 

Here, around the fireside, blazing, 

Who so happy and so free; 
Though the northern wind blows freez- 
ing, 

Friendship warms both you and me. 

Friendship makes us all more happy, 
Friendship gives us all delight; 

Friendship consecrates and blesses. 
Friendship brings us here to-night. 



%& 




A BOOK OP POEMS 




EPPIE ADAIR. 

And oh! my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie! 
Who would not be happy with Eppie 
Adair? 
By love, and by beauty, by law, and by 
duty, 
I swear to be true to my Eppie Adair! 

And oh! my Eppie, my jewel, my Eppie! 

Who would not be happy with Eppie 
Adair? 
All pleasure exile me, dishonor defile me, 

If e'er I beguile thee, my Eppie Adair! 



HAWKS WILL ROB. 

Hawks will rob the tender joys 

That bless the little lintwhites 1 nest, 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 
BONNIE LASS. 

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, 

Good night, and joy be with thee; 
I '11 come no more to thy bower-door, 

To tell thee that I love thee. 
Oh, do not think, my pretty pink, 

But I can live without thee: 
I vow and swear I do not care 

So very much about thee! 

Thou art so free informing me 

Thou hast no mind to marry; 
I '11 be as free informing thee 

I have no time to tarry. 
I see thy friends try every mean? 

From wedlock to delay thee; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But fortune may betray thee. 

I see they scorn my low estate, 

But that does never grieve me; 
And I 'm as free as any he, 

Small silver will relieve me. 
I'll count my health my greatest wealth 

So long as I'll enjoy it; 
I '11 feel no scant, I '11 bode no want, 

As long's I get employment. 



But far-off fowls have feathers fair, 

And not until ye try them: 
Though they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove worse than I am. 
At twelve at night, when moon shines 
bright, 

My dear, I '11 come and see thee; 
For the man who loves his mistress well, 

No travel makes him weary. 



STRIKE NOW. 

Ah, that sharp moment when before our 

eyes 
The glowing metal on the anvil lies, 
Comes to us all, not once, but day by 

day, 
To bless or curse us, ere it slips away. 
Its strenuous summons calls us as we 

wait: 
"Strike while the iron's hot and forge 

your fate!" 
And wise men hear and heed: the rest 

are fools 
Who stare, or trifle — till the iron cools. 



WHENE'ER I THINK OF THEE. 

Now the summer's sunny gladness hath 

faded all away, 
And there breathes a tone of sadness in 

the autumn's lingering day: 
But I have no change of season, all 

cheerless though it be; 
For the heart can feel but summer 

whene'er I think of thee. 

Well we know the autumn changes to 

winter's biting storm, 
That o'er heart and blossom ranges to 

wither and deform; 
But I heed not winter's raving, though 

black its storms may be; 
In this heart is summer's sweetness, 

whene'er I think of thee. 



HONOR. 



Oh, may no son the father's honor stain, 
Or ever daughter give the mother pain. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE WIMMIN. 

The comely shank uv evenin 1 has 
dwindled into mornm' 

As the timid light a-peepin' thru the win- 
ders give us waruin'; 

We've eaten an we've tippled 'till the 
roosters are a crowin,' 

And, unless I am mistaken, it is time 
that we wuz goin'; 

And now I wish to say to you before we 
go on sinnin', 

Suppose we drink before we go, ahumper 
to the wimmin'. 

They more than half suspicion that we 

cannot do without 'em, 
And 't will tickle 'em alfiredly to know 

we talk about 'em ; 
So I for one acknowledge that, with 

prospects kinder breezy, 
I favor what '11 let me dowu with th' 

fam'ly sorter easy! 
How can we drown our sorrers when our 

heads keep on a-swimmin? 
It aint no use — it must be done — let 's 

talk about the wimmin! 

Not one of us but loves to spark, 'an 

court 'em, and caress 'em — 
Not one but will respond " amen " when 

I suggest " God bless 'em ; " 
Why, when the rib from Adam's side 

was plucked for woman's makin', 
I calkerlate the Master took about all 

worth a-takin'! 
At any rate, since Adam's time, creation's 

bin a-hym'in' 
The virtues of the fairer an' the better 

sex, the w'mmin. 

An' we — wal, if there is a love we hold 
afore all others, 

It is the tender, sacred love uv sweet- 
hearts, wives an' mothers, 

No matter where our lots we cast, or 
though all else abhor us, 

How glad they are to fight our fights, an' 
die if need be, for us! 

Here, Mister Tavern-keeper, fill our 
glasses all a-brimmin' — 

We'll drink a toast to those we love — 
which is to say, the wimmin ! 



HOW SHE CRUSHED HIM. 

They quarrelled, as lovers sometimes 
will — 
Vowed they 'd be strangers evermore, 
And never sigh, " It might have been ! " 
He called one day; she met him at the 
door. 
He said, as he touched his Derby's brim: 
"Miss Brown, is it not? Is your 

father in?" 
She eyed him with a crushing grin, 
And said, in tones his soul appalled: 
"He is not; who shall I tell him 
called?" 



SHALL WE, DEAREST, MEET 
AGAIN. 

When the purple lilacs blossom, 

Shall we, dearest, meet again? 
Will the robin and the blue<-bird 

Greet us with a soft refrain? 
In the soft and gentle twilight 

Where we often, love, have met, 
Will you tell me, little darling, 

If you dearly love me yet? 



LOVE'S LIMIT. 

I 'd swear for her, I 'd tear for her, 
The Lord knows what I 'd bear for her; 
I'd lie for her, I'd sigh for her, 
I'd drink Wine River dry for her; 
I 'd cuss for her, I 'd fuss for her, 
I'd smash an omnibus for her; 
I'd weep for her, I 'd leap for her, 
I'd go without my sleep for her; 
I'd fight for her, I'd bite for her, 
I'd walk the street all night for her; 
I 'd plead for her, I 'd bleed for her, 
I 'd go without my "feed " for her; 
I 'd kneel for her, I 'd steal for her, 
Such is the love I feel for her; 
I'd slide for her, I 'd glide for her, 
I 'd swim against the tide for her; 
I 'd try for her, I 'd cry for her, 
But hang me if I'd die for her. 




£*> 



320 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



BERTHA AND SIR CHARLES. 

On her head I laid the chaplet, 
In her hand I laid the violets, 
Fancied that the red lips quivered 

As I said most tenderly, 
" Thou of human flowers the fairest, 
Thou of woman-kind; the violets 
In their sweetness and completeness, 

These are emblems apt of thee." 

She but raised her hand to place them 
Ou her bosom, when sprang forward 
Sir Charles, angrily exclaiming — 

" Throw those wretched flowers away ! 
Put my roses on your bosom — 
Ha, you will not? Then I '11 do it." 
In a moment more, crushed, mangled, 
Dying, 'neath his feet they lay. 

Bertha, cold and calm as moonlight, 

Quietly gave back the roses; 

Said — in clear, unfaltering accents, 

Sweetest music to my ear! — 
"Sir Charles Granby, take your roses; 
Severed are the ties that bound us" — 
Stooped, and gathered up the violets, 

Whispered low: "My choice is here." 



THE SWEET BRUNETTE. 

I asked for the friends of my youth — 
For Eva, the sweet brunette, 
With cheek of olive and eye of jet, 
And smile so sweet I can see it yet! 
Oh, the happy days we together passed 
Were too bright and innocent to last. 



UNCHANGED. 

Again, dear one, beneath the shade, 
By summers deep'ning verdure made, 
We two, with hearts more closely 

twined, 
A charm in that sweet love shall find, 
To keep our spirits through long years 
by time, undimmed by 
tears. 




Unchanged 



titoP 



I BURN. 

I burn with love; — love makes me bold 
to sing 
Praise of the damsel who undoes my 
heart; 
Each time I think a little tender thing 
About her, 't is as if my heart would 
part. 

The world her match for beauty cannot 
bring, 
No other eyes such lovely lightnings 
dart; 
In town and tower and city have I been, 
But seen none nowhere like my country 
queen. 



AMERICA. 



It is the land that freemen till, 
That sober-suited Freedom chose, 
A land, where girt with friend or foes, 

A man may speak the thing he will. 



CLEAR CONE. 

I am clear gone; this mash has laid me 
out 
Far flatter than the girl on whom I 'm 
stuck; 
I am so dizzy that a tiny pout 

From her fair lips would, dead sure, 
split my pluck: 

She takes the pastry; now you hear me 

shout; 
You bet that she 's a darling and a duck; 
I 've looked about, do n't take me for a 

green, 
I know a girl 's a girl, and I know pet 's 

a queen. 



THE GIFT AND GIVER. 

Friend of my life! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you 



ii 




1/ 






21 




m> 



V 



322 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP% 



ADELIA 

From now my harp shall hang on yonder 

tree, 
Forever silent, lest beloved by thee. 



LOSSES. 



Loss of friends who love us 

With a love we fondly prize ; 
Loss of light above us 

Shining from the clear blue skies; 
Loss of rarest treasures, 

Costing weary toil to gain; 
Loss of sweetest pleasures 

Leaving voids for life-long pain. 



WHEN THEY ARE GONE. 

Wejnever know what strong links ever 

bind 
Us to the loved till they are gone; the 

tree 
That blossoms beneath the sun ne'er 

ripens fruit 
Till frost shall come, and leaves be fallen; 

then 
Naked bough with bending fruit is clad. 



WARNINGS. 



If; thou wouldst see thy dreams, like 
flowers faded, 
Drifting adown life's cold and sullen 
tide — 
With not one faintest breath of perfume 
laded — 
With not one gleam the darkness to di- 
vide — 
If thou wouldst stand andj watch them 
darkly floating 
Downward, still downward to death's 
sullen stream, 
And with clasped hands loud call for 
their returning — 
If thou wouldst do all this — then 
dream. 



If thou wouldst see thy hopes like snow- 
flakes melting 
Before life's blasting falsehood, and its 
true — 
Would feel each day thy future growing 
dearer, 
And vainly strive to pierce the dim 
sky's hue — 
If thou canst wander in a darkness dreary, 
Alone, unaided, in the night timegrope 
Without one murmur or rebellious ques- 
tion — 
If thou canst do all this — then hope. 

If thou wouldst see thine idols, fondly 
cherished, 
Turning before thy wondering eyes to 
clay; 
And when thou knowst them fully to 
have perished, 
To bow before their empty shrines and 
pray — 
To pray for patience and submission, 

And yet receive no answer from above, 
And then take up life's burden and go 
ownward, 
With heart still strong and brave — 
then thou mayst love. 

But if with each lost dream thy heart is 
saddened, 
And turns upon itself again for peace: 
If every hope that fades makes life seem 
darker, 
While yet the soul's wild longings never 
cease : 
If, when thine earthly idols leave thee 
lonely, 
Thou canst not careless through this 
desert rove, 
Nor in the world find aught of joy or 
pleasure, 
Then thou shouldst never dream of 
hope and love. 



CONTENTMENT. 

I am content to work, to strive, 
To struggle and endure; 

For with the rich gift of thy love, 
I never can be poor. 



s&STr- 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY LOVE, MY OWN. 

Her soft arms fondly round me clasped, 

Love beaming in her eye; 
I would not give one waxen touch 

For all that gold can buy. 

I smooth her long and shining hair, 

In rippling, silken fold, 
Each lovely coil is more to me 

Than all your sordid gold. 



THAN TO REMEMBER ME. 

If souls could always dwell above, 
Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere; 

Or could we keep the souls we love, 
We ne'er had lost thee here, Anna. 

Though many a gifted mind we meet, 
Though fairest forms we see, 

To live with them is far less sweet, 
Than to remember thee, Anna. 



I AM OLD. 



I am old, but let me drink; 

Bring me spices, bring me wine; 
I remember, when I think, 

That my youth was half divine. 

Sit thee down, and have no shame, 
Cheek by jowl, and knee by knee; 

What care I for any name ? 
What for order or degree ? 

Let me screw thee up a peg: 

Let me loose thy tongue with wine: 
Callest thou that thing a leg? 

Which is thinnest, thine or mine? 

0, we two as well can look 

Whited thought and cleanly life 

As the priest, above his book, 
Leering at his neighbor's wife. 

We are friends of ruined blood; 

Therefore comes it, we are wise. 
Fish are we, that love the mud, 

Rising to no fancy flies. 



Fill the cup and fill the can; 

Have a rouse before the morn : 
Every moment dies a man, 

Every moment one is born. 

Virtue — to be good and just — 
Every heart, when sifted well, 

Is a clod of warmer dust, 

Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell. 

Name and fame! to fly sublime 

Through the courts, the camp, the 
schools; 

Is to be the ball of time, 

Bandied by the tongues of fools. 



THE DIMPLE ON HER CHEEK. 

Within a nest of roses, 

Half hidden from the sight, 
Until a smile discloses 

Its loveliness aright, 
Behold the work of Cupid, 

Who wrought it in a freak, 
The witching little dimple, 

The dimple in her cheek. 

The syrens' lays and glances, 

To lure the sailor nigh; 
The perilous romances 

Of fabled Lorelie, 
And all the spells of Circe 

Are reft of charm, and weak, 
Beside the dainty dimple, 

The dimple in her cheek! 

Were these the golden ages 

Of knights and troubadours, 
Who brighten olden pages 

With tourneys and amours, 
What lances would be broken — 

What silver lutes would speak 
In honor of the dimple, 

The dimple in her cheek! 



THE ROSE, 



The fragrance and the beauty of the rose 

Delight me so, slight thought I give the 

thorn. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



C^I 



THE RETURNED SOLDIER. 

There pledged we the wine-cup, and 
fondly he swore 
From his home and his weeping friends 
never to part; 
His little ones kissed him a thousand 
times o'er, 
And his wife sobbed aloud in her full- 
ness of heart. 



YEARNING. 



I know that deep within your heart of 
hearts 
You hold me shrined apart from com- 
mon things, 
And that my step, my voice can bring to 
you 
A gladness that no other presence 
brings. 

And yet, dear love, through all the weary 
days 
You never speak one word of tender- 
ness, 
Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my 
hand 
Within your own, in loving mute ca- 
ress. 

You think, perhaps, that I should be all 

content 
■ To know so well the loving place I hold 
Within your life, and so you do not dream 
How much I long to hear the story 

told. 

You cannot know, when we two sit alone, 
And tranquil thoughts within your 
mind are stirred, 
My heart is crying like a tired child 
For one fond look, one gentle, loving 
word. 

It may be, when your eyes look into mine, 

You only say, "how dear she is to me! 1 ' 

Oh! could I read it in your softened 

glance, 

How radiant this plain old world would 

be! 




Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a secret 
prayer 
That choicest blessings unto me be 
given; 
But if you said aloud, " God bless thee, 
dear!" 
I should not ask a greater boon from 
heaven. 

I weary sometimes of the rugged way, 
But should you say, ',' Through thee my 
life is sweet, 1 ' 
The dreariest spot that e'er our path 
could cross 
Would suddenly grow green beneath 
my feet. 

And so 't is sad that those who should be 
rich 
In that true love which crowns our 
earthly lot, 
Go praying with white lips from day to 
day, 
For love's sweet tokens, and receive 
them not. 



NO MORE OF LOVE. 

No more of love; your sex is known: 
I never will be twice deceived. 

Henceforth I trust in man alone, 
A woman cannot be believed. 



IF A HUNDRED ARE GOOD. 

If a hundred are good, only one can be 
best; 
No gentleman 's ever a rowdy. 



LADY GERALDINE. 

Now, her deep blue eyes laugh modestly; 
her lips have serious sweetness, 
And her front is calm, the dimple rarely 
ripples on the cheek; 
And her countenance beams constantly, 
as if they in discreetness 
Kept the secret of a happy dream she 

does not care to speak. x </<t 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




COUPLETS. 

0, ever beauteous, ever friendly, tell, 
Is it in heaven a crime to love too well. 

Can I, who have for others oft compil'd, 
The songs of love — forget my dearest 
child? 



AFTER I AM GONE. 

Through all thy summers yet to come, 
And when the last day sets for me, 

May gentle hands still guard thy home, 
And tender love stand guard o'er thee! 



GO, LOVELY ROSE. 

Go, lovely rose! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her that's youn'g, 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide, 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired: 

Bid her come forth. 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so as to be admired. 

Then die! that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee, — 
How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 



ALTHOUGH THIS HEART. 
ME NOT. 



DOUBT 




Although this heart was early blown, 
And fairest hands disturbed the tree, 

They only shook some blossoms down, 
Its fruit has all been kept for thee. 



CHANGES. 

Ah me! what changes time has wrought, 
And how predictions have miscarried! 

A few have reached the goal they sought, 
And some are dead, and some are mar- 
ried. 



LESBIA HAS A BEAMING EYE. 

Lesbia hath a beaming eye, 

But no one knows for whom it beam- 
eth; 
Right and left its arrows fly, 

But what they aim at no one dreameth. 
Sweeter 't is to gaze upon 

My Nora's lids that seldom rises; 
Few its looks, but every one, 

Like unexpected light, surprises. 
my Nora Creina, dear, 

My gentle, bashful Nora Creiua, 
Beauty lies, in many eyes, 

But love in yours, my Nora Creina! 

Lesbia wears a robe of gold, 

But all so close the nymph has laced it, 
Not a charm of beauty's mold 

Presumes to stay where Nature placed 
it. 
Oh, my Nora's gown for me, 

That floats as wild as mountain breezes, 
Leaving every beauty free 

To sink or swell as heaven pleases. 
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, 

My simple, graceful Nora Creina, 
Nature's dress is loveliness — 

The dress you wear, my Nora Creina. 

Lesbia hath a wit refined, 

But when its points are gleaming round 
us, 
Who can tell if they 're designed 

To dazzle merely, or to wound us? 
Pillowed on my Nora's heart 

In safer slumber love reposes — 
Bed of peace! whose roughest part 

Is but the crumpling of the roses. 
my Nora Creina, dear, 

My mild, my artless Nora Creina, 
Wit, though bright, hath no such light, 

As- warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. 



ffefti 



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326 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



M 



I SPENT LONG YEARS. 

I spent long years before I knew, 
A maiden lived as fair as you. 



JEALOUSY. 



Watched and foolish jealousy, 

Bow cam'st thou thus to enter me? 

I ne'er was of thy kind: 

Nor have I yet the narrow mind 

To vent that poor desire, 

That others should not warm them at my 

fire: 
I wish the sun should shine 
On all men's fruits and flowers, as well as 

mine. 



TIMES GO BY TURNS. 

The lopped tree in time may grow again, 
Most naked plants renew both fruit and 
flower, 

Tbe sorriest wight may find release from 
pain, 
The dryest soil suck in some moisten- 
ing shower; 

Time goes by turns, and chances change 
by course, 

From fond to fair, from better hap to 
worse. 

The sea of fortune doth not ever flow; 

She draws her favors to the lowest ebb; 
Her tides have equal times to come and 

go; 
Her loom doth weave the fine and 

coarsest web: 
No joy so great but runneth to an end, 
No hap so hard but may in time amend. 



FAIR STAR. 



Fair star! though I be doomed to prove 
That rapture's tears are mixed with 
pain, 
Ah! still I. feel 't is sweet to love, — 
. But sweeter to be loved again. 
rP 



AFTER THE WINTER. 

After the winter is passed and over 
And summer is seeking the swift-flown 
spring, 
After the blossoms are blown on the 
clover 
And fanned all day by the bee's light 
wing, 
What shall we do with the love that we 
played at 
Under the glimmer of ball-room light, 
When you, in your satin and pearls 
arrayed, at 
Will reigned supreme, the queen of the 
night? 

Where shall we bury it, now that it 's 
ended? 
A season 's too long for a love-play to 
live — 
A love that I knew well you never in- 
tended 
A single wild throb of perfection to 
give. 
Oh, you and I may but trifle with passion, 
And sip not a taste of its keen, strong 
wine; 
I may but dream that I mold and fashion 
Your heart to beat with a love like 
mine. 

Love that is more than a sweet hour's 
dreaming 
Oweth no place in a world like ours, 
Where there is only a wan, cold seeming, 
Shamed by the warm, true blush of the 
flowers. 
And yet — I love thee, as well thou 
knowest, 
Although thy love was but winter's 

play; 
And my heart is with thee, wherever 
thou goest, 
E'en to the end of eternal day. 



CONSCIENCE. 

That which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet is to me; 
Whilst a good conscience is my bail, 

And innocence my liberty. 



^ 



^s 



J^ 






r"\ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



327 L 



FAREWELL. 

Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives 
alone, 
Housed in a dream, at distance from its 
kind! 
Such happiness, wherever it he known, 
Is to he pitied; for 'tis surely blind. 



ONE GOOD LIFE. 

A sunbeam piercing the forbidden shade 
Of some drear prison cell has often 
brought 
Quiet to troubled spirits, and has made 
Dark, morbid brooding change to 
peaceful thought. 

So one good life will prove a guiding 
light, 
To brighten paths weak mortals oft 
find drear — 
A beacon in the narrow way of right, 
To lure the fallen to a higher sphere. 



HOW IT IS DONE IN THE WEST. 

In that vast region where the world 
turns down 
The plains of Kansas to the south and 
west, 
A stranger, pausing as the day grew 
brown 

Sought for a place of rest. 

" I must be near the town," he vaguely 
said, 
But ocean-like the view was green and 
free, 
A rolling main of grass and flowers out- 
spread; 

The man was all at sea. 

A " boomer " passed with jingling bit 
and spur, 
Of whom the weary stranger begged 
the way; 
"The town," the boomer answered, "lays 
right here; 

Yer want a tavern, heigh?" 



The puzzled stranger then his eyes cast 
down 
And squares, and lots, and streets, saw 
"lined" en masse; 
The man of land-claims grunted: "Thar's 
y'r town; 

It 's jist staked ter grass ! 

" The railroad 's buildin 1 down the valley 
yan; 
Aint sure th' track 'ell tetch th' city 

yit; 

We Ve got the county-seat though, under- 
stand 

We'll move 'er so she '11 hit! " 



WOMAN. 

Most flattered and least trusted of the 

race, 
Dropt for a whim and followed for a face, 
Loved for their follies, their devotion 

scorned, 
In presence slighted and in absence 

mourned, 
Their hearts, their characters, by men 

abused; 
Who never think their help should be 

refused? 

Seated by kings and trampled in the 

mire, 
The best and worst they equally inspire. 
Cursed for their weakness, hated when 

they're strong; 
Whatever happens, always in the wrong. 
For shades of thee all shapes of beauty 

seem, 
Man's nightly vision and his daily dream. 



AH! LIST. 



Ah! list and hear the music sigh, 
How sad it is that love must die. 



THE VOICELESS. 

A few can touch the magic string, 

And noisy fame is bound to win them: 

Alas for those that never sing, 

But die with all their music in them. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




ELIZA. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's* roar; 
But boundless oceans roaring wide 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ! 



WELL-A-DAY. 

The sky was blue, the day was fair, 
The flowers scented all the air; 
The perfume of the new-mown hay 
Came down the breeze — ah, well-a-day! 

The blossom fragrance was as balm, 
All was so still, so sweet, so calm: 
With sun so bright, with day so warm, 
Who would have dreamt of coming storm ? 

And I was waiting by the stile, 
In hopes to catch a passing smile 
From a fair maid, who came that way, 
Each summer morn — ah, well-a-day! 

She comes! I hope her smile to see, 
And just a faint pink blush for me, 
And those soft eyes cast shyly down; 
But — woe is me! — 1 see a frown. 

She passes on with haughty mein, 
As scornful as a sovereign queen; 
The very ground beneath her feet 
With more disdain she could not treat. 

What need I care? Sure I can find 
Some other fair one to be kind; 
To whom sweet words of love to say, 
With hope that she may not say " Nay." 

Just one brief moment there I stand, 
Then to "my lady" wave my hand; 
At last her fickle mind I know, 
'T is well as 't is — so let her go ! 

And now the sky is bright again, 
The sun dispels the threatening rain; 
I whistle homeward on my way — 
Thus runs the world — ah, well-a-day. 



IS BEAUTY LESS ? 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing 
cheek 
Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows 
fall? 
Less kind the heart, when anguish bids 
it break? 
Less happy he who lists to pity's call? 



SAVE YOUR KISSES FOR YOUR 
HUSBAND. 

Save your kisses for your husband; 

Every one you throw away 
For some foolish, passing fancy, 

You '11 be sorry for, some day. 
There 's no dower a bride can bring 

That will be more prized than this — 

That you gave your first love-kiss. 

Now you may not comprehend it, 
Love 's so light in early youth, 

Ere you really feel its passion, 

You may doubt its strength and truth. 

A kiss is but a little thing, 
Yet it will be sweet to say: 
" This is love's first kiss," some day. 

When the true prince comes, you '11 know 
him, 

And he will not love you less 
That he has to win your kisses 

By his worth and faithfulness. 
When, with his betrothal ring, 

He shall claim your kiss, be sure 

That your lips are sweet and pure. 

So my own dear mother told me 
Long ago, when I was young; 

And I know the sweetest music 
Ever heard from mortal tongue 

Were my husband's words: "You bring 
More than dower of gold-pretense 
When you give your innocence." 



WEEP. 



Weep, if you have a tear to spare, 
For her who once like you was fair. 




Jl 



h 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



jiiC 

329 <v 



THE STORY OF TWO OLD PEOPLE. 

Once he was twenty and she only ten, 
She was a child, he scarcely in his 
prime; 
Youth seemed so long and age so distant 
then, 
And noon came not, as now, ere morn- 
ing time. 

But later on they chanced to meet, 
And he was thirty and she twenty 
now. 

"Why, he is old," exclaimed the maiden 
sweet, 

And passed, with careless heart and cloud- 
less brow. 

Ten years (a weary round) roll on again, 
Whose days and weeks, so like each 
other pass, 
That, when they meet, 't is he, with sud- 
den pain, 
Who cries, in turn, "Why, she is old, 
alas!" 

But often on those tender April eyes, 
When hearts beat time to tender melo- 
dies, . 

"Why was I never loved?" he asks — 
and grieves. 

"Why did I never love? " she asks — and 
sighs. 

And now. opprest with vain regret, they 
say, 
As years wear on in ever deepening 
gloom ; 
" Children, enjoy the sunshine while you 
may, 
And pluck the flower in its morning 
bloom." 



A PORTRAIT. 

She thinks so much of worldly show 
That, should an angel call her to 

Arise unto the skies, 
A long white robe she 'd quickly don 
And buy a harp to play upon, 
Then pay a ©all to every friend 
And tell them all to watch her wend 

Her way to Paradise. 

§3 fe 



WE PART. 

We part — but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes, 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise! 



MAY THERE BE. 

May there be just clouds enough o'er 
your life to cause a glorious sunset. 



A MAY REGRET. 

I do repent me of the unjust things 
I said against thee, winter! Had I 

known . 
That the rime frosted mantle round 
thee thrown 
Hid roots of such luxurious blossomings, 
Of royal heart's ease, lilies gold besprent, 
And milk white pinks for spring's be- 
wilderment — 
I had not slammed the door so in thy 
face' 
When thou wast fain to be my mid- 
night guest; 
But e'en had asked thee to the coziest 
place, 
And of warm welcome given thee the 
best. 



DEAD. 



Idly the loosely clasped hands flung above 
her, 
Still on the pillow the small restless 
head, 
Plenty to pity, but no one to love her, 
It were as well then, perhaps, she were 
dead. 

Like waves that have suddenly ceased in 
their dashing, 
Like the bright glory of burnished 
brown hair, 
The great eyes have forever finished their 
flashing, 
That once were so wondrous, so witch- 
ingly fair. 



330 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ONE CURL. 

Now the world has nothing bright or fair, 
Since you, my darling, are still and 
cold. 
I will take one curl from your clustering 
hair, 
And wind it over my ring of gold. 

'T is the ring you gave me long ago, 
When life was happy, and free, and 

When we knew nothing of care or woe, 
Nor dreamed of the coming of this sad 
day. 

One kiss — farewell! I will meet you 
soon, — 
Only a moment of anguish deep; 
There 's no one to see but the pale, sad 
moon, 
There is no one near who will mourn 
or weep. 

A moment more and her soul had fled. 

Her life was ended her sorrows told. 
She laid on his bosom her lovely head, 

And twined round his, her fingers cold. 



I BELIEVED THEE TRUE. 

Mary, I believed thee true, 

And I was blessed in thus believing; 
But now I mourn that e'er I knew 

A girl so fair and so deceiving. 

Few have ever loved like me, — 

Oh! I have loved thee too sincerely! 

And few have e'er deceived like thee, — 
Alas! deceived me too severely! 

Fare thee well ! yet think awhile 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt 
thee; 
Who now would rather trust that smile, 
And die with thee than live without 
thee! 

Fare thee well ! I '11 think of thee, 
Thou leav'st me many a bitter token; 

For see, distracting woman! see, 

My peace is gone, my heart is broken, 
Then fare thee well! Mary. 



JUST LIKE HER. 

She gave him back his letters 

With her fine patrician air, 
While a tinge of gentle sadness 

Made her seem more truly fair. 
And thus the bond was severed, 

While their love was in in its spring; 
She gave him back his letters, 

But she kept his diamond ring! 



OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE 
ALWAYS AS LIGHT. 

Oh! think not my spirits are always as 
light, 
And as free from a pang as they seem 
to you now; 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile 
of to-night 
Will return with to-morrow to brighten 
my brow. 
No: — life is a waste of wearisome hours, 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment 
adorns; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to 
the flowers, 
Is always the first to be touched by the 
thorns. 

The thread of our life would be dark, 
heaven knows! 
If it were not with friendship and love 
intertwined; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to 
repose, 
When these blessings shall cease to be 
dear to my mind. 
But they who have loved the fondest, 
the purest, 
Too often have wept o'er the dream 
they believed; 
And the heart that has slumbered in 
friendship securest, 
Is happy, indeed, if 't was never deceived. 



YOUR NEIGHBOR, 

Each thinks his neighbor makes too free; 
Yet likes a slice as well as he. 



TUi 






f 



A iiOOK OF POEMS 



331 






MY MOTHER. 

how could T part from my loved native 

shore, 
If I fancied her arms would enfold me 



no more 



POUTING AND SADNESS. 

Away with this pouting and sadness, 
Sweet girl! will you never give o'er? 

I love you, by Heaven, to madness, 
And what can I swear to you more? 

Believe not the old woman's fable, 
That oaths are as short as a kiss; 

I 1 11 love you as long as I 'm able, 
And swear for no longer than this. 

Then waste not the time with professions; 

For nut to be blest when we can 
Is one of the blackest transgressions 

That happen 'twixt woman and man. — 

If you think, by this coolness and scorn- 
ing, 

To seem more angelic and bright, 
Be an angel, my love, in the morning, 

But oh! be a woman to-night. 



THE COQUETTE'S TRAGEDY. 

I had a lover once — a youth! 

A gallant youth, with forehead fair, 
And dark eyes clear as wells of truth, 

And clustering curls of silken hair. 
He loved me fond as love could be, 

I 'd say him neither yea nor nay. 
Whene'er he told his love to me, 

I lightly laughed it all away. 

Another suitor then I met — 

A man unlovely, bent, and old; 
His gray hair wore a coronet, 

His withered hands were full of gold. 
When my young lover to me came, 

The eve before my wedding-day, 
And called for mercy in love's name, 

I lightly laughed his prayers away. 



In gleams of pearls and silken sheen, 

• In midst of lace I passed in pride 
The rows of staring folks between, 

Who came to see the old man's bride. 
Yet though I won a wealthy prize, 

A weight upon my bosom lay; 
The memory of pleading eyes 

I could not lightly laugh away. 

The silver-throated wedding-bell, 

The deep-toned organ's swell and surge, 
Why sounded one so like a knell, 

And one so like a funeral dirge? 
I shivered, and the month was June; 

The ring was dropped and rolled astray; 
The thunder burst upon the noon; 

But these were omens laughed away. 

We passed, amidst the stormy gloom 

And lightning's glare, the sacred door, 
Ah, day of horror! day of doom! 

It froze my mirth forevermore! 
For at my feet, and past all pain, 

My young self-murdered lover lay, 
And with the rillets of the rain 

His crimson life blood flowed away. 

No, not self-murdered, for my hand 

Had aimed the dagger's fatal blow. 
Ah, truest heart in all the land, 

I did not think I loved you so. 
Oh, clinging arms and tender kiss, 

They cannot thrill the senseless clay! 
Oh, lover I shall ever miss, 

I lightly laughed your life away! 



TO A KISS. 



te&. 



Humid seal of soft affections, 
Tenderest pledge of future bliss, 

Dearest tie of young connexions, 
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss! 

Speaking silence, dumb confession, 
Passion's birth, and infant's play, 

Dove-like fondness, chaste concession, 
Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 

When ling' ring lips no more must join, 

What words can ever speak affection 
So thrilling and sincere as thine? 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE RING. 

No, do not from her finger take 
Affection's outward sign; 

I In life, not all the world could make 
Her yield this pledge of mine. 

; For it was dear to her sweet eyes, 

f And of herself a part, 

[ Love's sacred symbol, and a prize 
Held closest to her heart. 



ff How often in the passing years 

'T was by her kisses blest! 
How often bathed with happy tears, 

'Twas to her bosom pressed! 
To her it brought the absent nigh, 

And o'er it mem'ry bent 
With quickened heart and tender eye, 

And holy, sweet content. 

And she had said, our nuptial day, 

" To this through life I '11 cling, 
And naught shall ever take away 

My true love's wedding ring." 
On her dear hand then let it be; 

The two shall never part; 
'T were just to her and just to me, 

'T were buried with my heart. 



GIVE ME. 



Give me, instead of beauty's bust, 
A tender heart, a loyal mind, 

Which with temptation I would trust, 
Yet never link'd with error find, — 

One in whose gentle bosom I 

Could pour my secret heart of woes, 

Like the care-bur thened honey-fly 
That hides his murmurs in the rose,- 

. My earthly comforter! whose love 

So indefeasible might be 
That when my spirit wound above, 

Hers could not stay for sympathy. 



MADELINE. 




Now I would have thine image be, 
White as I can, though not as thee. 



FALLEN OUT. 

Desolate, and all alone 

In the weary world, said she; 
Of the friends my soul hath known, 

Who will keep me company? 
Hope hath left me — faith is dead — 
Peace is long estranged, she said; 

Sweet, inconstant love and I 

Never speak as we pass by. 

So I turn to you again, 

Little flowers, that branch and blow 
In my narrow, dull domain — 

Ye are all the joy I know. 
Ghostly white Love-in-a-Mist, 
Come, it is the hour of tryst; 

In the moonlight and the dew 

Let me tell my grief to you. 

There is one I love — but one ! 

He is ardent, leal, and kind, 
True, and steadfest as the sun — 

But youth is hasty, and love blind. 
Something — what, we scarcely knew — 
From our first joy brushed the dew; 

Some small fret, some trivial doubt, 

And — my love and I fell out. 



FORGET ME NOT. 

Go, youth beloved, in distant glades 
New friends, new hopes, new joys to 
find, 

Yet sometimes deign, 'midst fairer maids 
To think on her thou leav'st behind. 

Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share, 
Must never be my happy lot, 

But thou may'st grant this humble prayer, 
Forget me not, forget me not! 



THE CHESS BOARD. 

My little love, do you remember, 

Ere we were grown so sadly wise, 
Those evenings in the bleak December, 
Curtain'd warm from the snowy weather 
When you and I played chess together, 
Checkmated by each other's eyes. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




I SAW. 

I saw the bine Rhine sweep along — I 

heard or seem'd to hear, 
The pretty songs we nsed to sing, in 

chorus sweet and clear, 
And down the pleasant river, and up the 

slanting hill, 
The echoing chorus sounded through the 

evening calm and still; 
And her glad blue eyes were on me as we 

passed, with friendly talk, 
Down many a path beloved of yore, and 

well remembered walk; 
And her little hand lay lightly, confid- 
ingly in mine, 
And we'll meet again at Bingen, loved 

Bingen on the Rhine. 



HOPE ON, HOPE EVER. 

Hope on, hope ever! after darkest night, 
Comes, full of loving life, the laughing 
morning; 
Hope on, hope ever! spring-tide flusht 
with light, 
Aye crowns old winter with her rich 
adorning. 
Hope on, hope ever! yet the time shall 
come, 
When man to man shall be a friend 
and brother; 
And this old world shall be a happy 
home, 
And all earth's family love one another. 



SLEEP, MAIDEN. 

Sleep, maiden! still in honor'd rest 
Your truth and valor wearing: 

The bravest are the tenderest, — 
The loving are the daring. 



WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? 

Now may the cherubs on their face 

Protect me from the sin 
That dooms one to those dreadful words, 
My dear, where have you been?" 




ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE 

ANGEL. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of 

peace, 
And saw, within the moonlight in his 

room, 
Making it rich, and like a'lily in bloom, 
An angel, writing in a book of gold: — 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem 

bold, 
And to the presence in the room he said: 
" What writest thou ? " — The vision raised 

its head, 
And with a look made of sweet accord, 
Answered: " The names of those who love 

the Lord." 

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, 

not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more 

low, 
But cheerily still; and said: " I pray thee, 

then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow 

men." 
The angel wrote, and vanished. The 

next night 
It came again with a great wakening 

light, 
And showed the names whom love of 

God had blessed, 
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the 

rest. 



LUELLA. 



My thoughts of thee too sacredfare 

For daylight's common beam; 
I can but know thee as my star, 

My angel and my dream; 
When stars are in the quiet skies 

Then most I pine for thee; 
Bend on me then thy tender eyes, 

And cast thy lot with me. 



TRUST. 



I've had myself full many a merry fit, 
And trust in heaven I may have many ye 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






i 



HOW CAN WE TELL. 

How can we tell the signals and the 
signs, 

By which one heart another heart di- 
vines? 



A LEGEND OF WALLEN. 

The story, as told, is about this size, 
And substantially told in the following 
way: 
Erastmus Josiah de Manderville 

Was riding along one summer day, 
On his foam-wbite steed, with its tail 
cut square, 
And a" pocket quite filled with tin, 
And Erastmus Josiah de Manderville 
Was looking as natty and smart as 
sin — 



When he saw in a meadow a maiden fair, 
So stunning a girl he had seldom seen, 
And he reigned his steed to the barb- 
wired fence, 
And asked the maiden to give him a 
green — 
One little green from her flowing pail — 
To wear near his heart all the days of 
his life, 
Unless — and he blushed, to think how 
he blushed! — 
She would consent to become his wife. 

Then she waited and smiled on her fodder 
and grass, 
And made up her mind not say him 
nay, 
When Erastmus Josiah de Manderville 
Weakened, and rode like mad away; 
And the maiden looked down, and the 

maiden looked up, 
And some tears dropped into her brim- 
ming pail, 
And away through the mist she could 
only see 
A] galloping horse with a square cut 
tail. 



And Erastmus Josiah de Manderville 

Married a lady ice-cream bred,' 
Who worried his life all the summer for 
hats, 
And in winter for seal-skin sacques, 
't is said; 
And he kicked himself over a thousand 
times, 
When he thought of the maiden that 
summer day, 
Who was shaping her face to answer him 
yes, 
When he weakened, and rode like mad 
away. 

And the maiden she married the hired 
man, 
But she always regretted it more or 
less, 
That she had n't minded her knitting 
that day, 
And been more previous in saying yes; 
And the legend goes on to further state 
That they died atfer eighty years of 
blight, 
And the stone-cutter cut on their sev- 
eral tombs 
"It is now, if it was'nt then, all right." 



IF 'TWERE NOT FOR THE 

LASSES, 0. 

There 's naught but care on every hand, 
In every hour that passes, 0; 

What signifies the life of man, 
If 't were not for the lasses, 0. 

Dame Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, 0; 

Her 'prentice hand she tried on man, 
And then she made the lasses, 0. 



YON HILLS. 






Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 

Yon palace and yon gardens fine! 

The whole world, then, the love should 

know 
I bear my Highland lassie, 0. 



f% 



7 

b 



-*<?■ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



335 






ANNOT LYLE'S SONG. 

Wert thou, like me, in life's low vale, 
With thee how blest that lot I 'd share; 

With thee I 'd fly wherever gale 

Could waft, or bounding galley bear. 

But parted by severe decree, 

Far different must our fortunes prove; 
May thine be joy — enough for me 

To weep and pray for him I love. 



ONE DAY. 



The empty house is sad, and dark, and 

still. 
But by the shore and o'er the fair, green 

hill 
I hear the echoing laugh and voices shrill 

Of little ones at play. 
And sitting lonely thus I watch the glow, 
The grand sun-setting — ah, we loved it 

so, 
When, in its flight, we met so long ago — 
We met and kissed one day. 

I look along the road — no shadow falls; 
My heart beats fast, but still no fond 

voice calls — 
Only a rustle in the dim wide halls 

Where ghostly curtains sway. 
If from their depths you should come 

forth to-night, 
And, touching mouth and eyes with 

kisses light, 
Could heal my wounds and give me life 

and sight, 

What would I dare to say? 

Could I dare to tell thee of the weary 

years 
Bereft of joy, the eyes grown dim with 

tears, 
The fainting heart bowed down with 

weight of cares? 

This only could I say, 
Only the four fond words, " I love thee 

still." 
With all a woman's dower of strength 

and will, 
While life shall last, while pulses throb 

and thrill, 
I love thee as that day. 






Ah me! no whisper wakes, no kisses fall, 
Only the shadows fill the darkening hall; 
Thou art at rest, and I, in life's sad 

thrall, 

Must work, and weep, and pray. 
When all the long, sad years have past 

me rolled 
Shall silver locks shine once again as 

gold, 
Shall I be young who have grown tired 

and old, 

When we shall meet — one day. 






A RENUNCIATION. 

If woman could be fair and yet not fond, 
Or that their love were firm, not fickle, 

still 
I would not marvel that they make men 

bond 
By service long to purchase their good 

will; 
But when I see how frail those creatures 

are! 
I muse that men forget themselves so far 

To mark the choice they make, and how 

they change, 
How oft from Phoebus they do flee to 

Pan, 
Unsettled still, like haggards wild they 

range, 
These gentle birds that fly from man 

to man; 
Who would not scorn and shake them 

from the fist, 
And let them fly, fair fools, which way 

they list. 

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, 
To pass the time when nothing else can 
please, 
And train them to our line with subtle 
oath, 
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we 
ease; 
And then we say when we their fancy try, 
To play with fools, oh, what a fool was I! 




^m 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



^ 



YOU REMEMBER ELLEN. 

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride, 
How meekly she blessed her humble lot, 
When the stranger, William, had made 
her his bride, 
And love was the light of their lowly 
cot. 
Together they toiled through winds and 
rains, 
Till Willliam at length in sadness said, 
" We must seek our fortune on other 
plains; 1 ' — 
Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. 

They roamed a long and a weary way, 
Nor much was the maiden's heart at 
ease, 
When now, at the close of one stormy 
day, 
They see a proud castle among the 
trees. 
" To-night," said the youth, " we '11 shel- 
ter there; 
The wind blows cold, and the hour is 
late;" 
So he blew his horn with a chieftain's air, 
And the porter bowed as they passed 
the gate. 

"Now, welcome, lady," exclaimed the 
youth, 
" This castle is thine, and these dark 
woods all!" 
She believed him crazed, but his words 
were truth, 
For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall! 
And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves 
What William the stranger wooed and 
wed; 
And the light of bliss, in these lordly 
groves, 
Shines pure as it did in the lowly shed. 



MY DEAR SON. 

And though I should see thee not — even 

for years — 
I shall think of thee always, and often in 

tears. 




A PAINFUL STORY. 

'T was in the pleasant olden time, 

Oh many years ago, 
When husking bees and singing schools, 

Were all the fun you know. 

The singing school in Tarrytown — J 
A quaint old town in Maine — 

Was wisely taught, and grandly led, 
By a young man named Paine. 

A gallant gentleman was Paine, 

Who liked the lasses well; 
But best he loved Miss Patience^ White, 

As all the school could tell. 

One night the singing school had met; 

Young Paine, all carelessly, 
Had turned the leaves, and said: " We'll 
sing 

On page one seventy." 

"See gentle patience smile on pain." 
On Paine they all then smiled, 

But not so gently as they might: 
And he, confused and wild, 

Searched quickly for another piece, 

As quickly gave it out; 
The merriment, suppressed before, 

Rose now into a shout. 

These were the words that met his eyes, 
(He sank down with a groan;) 

"0 give me grief for other's woes, 
And patience for my own." 



DEAR BESSY. 

Now tell me no more, with a tear'and a 
sigh, 
That our loves will be^censured , by 
many; 
All, all have their follies, yet who will 
deny 
That ours is the sweetest of any? , 

So innocent love is'the pleasure we sip, 
So little of guilt is there in it, 

That I wish all my "errors were lodged in 
your lip, 
And I 'd kiss thenfaway in a minute. 




^' 



ti 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




BY AND BY. 

Farewell, bright dawns and perfume- 
laden airs, 
Faint with the breath of roses newly 
blown: 
Warm, slumbrous noons, when sleep our 
haunting cares, 
Long summer days and nights, too 

swiftly flown. 
With sighs and sad regrets we saw you 

go; 
Why did you leave us, who had loved 
you so? 

'Neath sapphire skies, by starry hedgerows 
sweet, 

Laced with pearl threads of gossamer 
we went; 
Wild summer blossoms beneath our wan- 
dering feet, 

And summer in our hearts, on love in- 
tent. 

"I will return," you said, "when roses 
blow." 

That time you said, " Good-bye," a year 
ago. 

But I alone have seen them bloom and 
die, 
While you have passed beyond the 
shadow here 
Into the light. I'll follow by and by; 
Meantime I wait and hold the roses 
dear, 
And summer sacred, for the love I bear, 
Until we meet again, some day, some- 
where. 



DARLING MARY. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready: 
The shouts of war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody; 
But it 's not the roar of sea or shore 

Would make me longer wish to tarry, 
Nor shout of war, that 's heard afar — 

It 's leaving thee, my darling Mary. 
22 
J0> 



ALAS. 

My lady fair deceives me, 
Of joy her loss bereaves me; 
So now must I in sadness try 
Her former kindness to forget, 
And fancy that we never met. 

But now that she 's bereft me 
Of love's sweets, what is left me 
Except the smart of Cupid's dart, 
Withdrawn from that deep wound it made 
When first love's bonds were on me laid? 

Now, what can I be doing, 

Since ended is my wooing? 

She I adore will look no more 

On me, to whom such wrong she's done. 

I should be glad our love is run. 

Ah, yes, it were far better 

To free me from her fetter, 

And seek elsewhere some truer fair; 

But ah — it is not easy to be wise 

Within the range of her bright eyes. 



HASTE, MY REINDEER. 

Haste, my reindeer, and let us nimbly go, 
Oar aimless journey through this 
dreary waste, 
Haste, my reindeer! still, still thou art 
slow — 
Impetuous love demands the lightning's 
haste. 

Around us far the rushy moors are spread, 
Soon will the sun withdraw his cheer- 
ful ray: 
Darkling and tir'd we shall the marshes 
tread, 
No lay unsung to cheat the tedious 
way. 

The watery lengths of these un joyous 
moors 
Does all the meadow's flowery pride 
excel; 
Through these I fly to her my soul 
adores, 
Ye flowery meadows, empty pride, fare- 
well. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

I married with a scolding wife, 

The fourteenth of November; 
She made me weary of my life 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended; 
But to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now, her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

As man and wife together; 
At length from me her course she steer'd, 

And 's gone I know not whither: 
Would I could guess, I do profess! 

I speak, and do not flatter, 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 
But sure her soul is not in h — 11, 

The De'il could ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder; 
For why, methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



A SHILLING SAVED. CONFESSION. 

A parent asked a priest his boy to bless, 
Who forthwith charged, "He must first 

confess;' 1 
"Well," said the boy, "suppose, sir, I am 

willing, 
What is your charge?" "To you, it is a 

shilling." 
"Must all men pay, and all men make 

confession ?" 
"Yes, every man of Catholic profession." 
" Then whom do you confess to ?" " Why, 

the dean." 
"And does he charge you?" "Yes, a 

whole thirteen." 
"Then, do the deans confess?" "Yes, 

sure they do; 
Confess to bishops, and that smartly, too." 
"Do bishops, sir, confess? If so, to 

whom?" 
"Why, they confess, and pay the Church 
k\ of Rome." 



"Well," quoth the boy, "all this i 

mighty odd; 
And does the pope confess?" "Oh! 

to God." 
"And does God charge the pope?" " No," 

quoth the priest, 
" God charges nothing!" "Oh, then God 

is best. 
God then is able to forgive, and always 

willing; 
To him I will confess and save my shil- 

ling." 



DEATH. 



Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, 
and ye skies, 
Now gay with the broad setting sun! 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear, 
tender ties! 
Our race of existence is run. 



COME TAKE THE HARP. 

Come take the harp — 't is vain to muse 
Upon the gathering ills we see; 

Oh ! take the harp, and let me lose 
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee. 

Sing to me love! though death were near 
Thy song could make my soul forget; 

Nay, nay, in pity dry that tear, 
All may be well, be happy yet. 

Art thou, too, wretched! yes, thou art; 

I see thy tears flow fast with mine — 
Come, come to this devoted heart, 

'Tis breaking, but it still is thine. 



WHEN I LOVED YOU. 

When I loved you, I can't but allow 
I had many an exquisite minute; 

But the scorn I feel for you now 
Hath even more luxury in it! 

Thus, whether we 're on or we 're off, 
Some witchery seems to await you; 

To love you is pleasant enough, 
But oh! 'tis delicious to hate you. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 






339 



JESSE KERSEY. 

I once heard Jesse Kersey say a spirit 

clothed with grace, 
And pure almost as angels are, may have 

a homely face. 



h 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

I do not want a gaping crowd 
To come with lamentations loud, 

When life has fled: 
Nor would I have my words or ways 
Rehearsed, perhaps, mid tardy praise, 

When I am dead. 

I do not want strange, curious eyes 
To scan my face when still it lies 

In silence dread: 
Nor do I want them, if they would, 
To tell my deeds were ill or good, 

When I am dead. 

I only want the "very few" 

Who stood through good, and evil, too — 

True friendship's test: 
Just they who sought to find the good, 
And then, as only true friends could, 

Forgive the rest. 

They who, with sympathetic heart, 
Sought hope and comfort to impart 

When there was life: 
Not keeping all the tears and sighs, 
Till weary worn-out nature dies, 

And ends the strife. 

I'd have them come, the "friendly few," 
And drop, perhaps, a tear or two, 

By kindness led: 
Not many tears I 'd have them shed, 
Nor do I want much sung or said, 

When I am dead. 

To have them each come in alone, 
And call me in the old sweet tone, 

Would suit me best: 
And then without a sob or moan, 
Go softly out and leave alone 

The dead, to rest, 



I NE'ER ON THAT LIP. 

I ne'er on that lip for a minute have 
gaz'd, 
But a thousand temptations beset me, 
And I 've thought, as the dear little 
rubies you raised, 
How delicious 't would be — if you 'd 
let me. 

Then be not so angry for what I have 
done, 
Nor say that you 've sworn to forget 
me; 
They were buds of temptation too pouting 
to shun, 
And I thought — you could not but let 
me! 

When your lip in a whisper came close to 
my cheek, 
Oh think how bewitching it met me! 
As plain as the eye of a Venus could 
speak, 
Your eyes seemed to say — you would 
let me! 

Then forgive the transgression, and bid 
me remain, 
For, in truth, if I go you '11 regret me; 
Or oh ! — let me try the transgression 
again, 
And I'll do all you wish — will you 
let me? 



STELLA LOOKED ON. 

Stella looked on, and from her heavenly 

face 
Sent forth the beams which made so fair 

her race. 



REMEMBER. 



Now, remember, wherever your goblet is 
crowned, 
Through this world, whether eastward 
or westward you roam, 
When a cup to the smile of dear woman 
goes round, 
Oh! remember the smile which adorns 
her at home. 

^1 



x3l>£ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




FAME. 

I sought the star crowned temple of proud 
fame. 
And thought to reach it by a flowery 

way, 
To waken calmly on some lovely day 
And hear through all the world my simple 

name 
Sounded, mid wild applause and high ac- 
claim. 
I knew not of the snares which round 

me lay, 
Nor that the goddess whom I did essay 
To honor was unchanged — was quite the 

same 
As in the ancient days — as stern — as 
cold. 
Ah, well! the fancy faded all too fast. 
Fame is to-day as she hath been of old. 

To gain her temple now, as in the past, 
Men pass through fire and blood, give 
time and gold, 
Happy if they may reach her courts at 
last. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

Here is one leaf reserved for me, 
From all thy sweet memorials free; 
And here my simple song might tell 
The feelings thou must guess so well; 
But could I thus, within thy mind, 
One little vacant corner find 
Where no impression yet is seen, 
Where no memorial yet has been, 
Oh! it should be my sweetest care, 
To write my name forever there. 



SOMEHOW OR OTHER WE GET 
ALONG. 

The good wife bustled about the house, 

Her face still bright with a pleasant 
smile, 
As broken snatches of happy song 

Strengthened her heart and hand the 
while. 
The good man sat in the chimney nook, 

His little clay pipe within his lips, 
And all he 'd made and all he 'd lost, 

Ready and clear on his finger tips. 



" Good wife, I 've just been thinking a bit, 

Nothing has done very well this year; 
Money is bound to be hard to get — 

Everything's bound to be very dear; 
How the cattle are going to be fed, 

How we 're to keep the boys at school, 
Is kind of a debit and credit sum 

I can't make balance by my rule." 

She turned her round from the baking 
bread, 
And she faced him with a cheerful 
laugh; 
" Why, husband dear, one would think 
That the good, rich wheat was only 
chaff. 
And what if the wheat was only chaff, 

As long as we both are well and strong? 
I 'm not a woman to worry a bit — 
Somehow or other we get along. 

" Into some lives some rain must fall, 

Over all lands the storm must beat, 
But when the rain a*nd storm are o'er, 

The after sunshine is twice as sweet. 
Through every strait we have found a 
road, 

In every grief we 've found a song; 
We 've had to bear and had to wait, 

But somehow or other we get along. 

" For thirty years we have loved each 
other, 
Stood by each other whatever befell, 
Six boys have called us father and 
mother, 
And all of them living and doing well. 
We owe no man a penny, my dear, 
• We 're both of us loving, well and 

strong, 
Good man, I wish you would smoke again, 
And think how well we 've got along." 

He filled his pipe with a pleasant laugh; 

He kissed his wife with a tender pride; 
He said: " I '11 do as you tell me, love; 

I'll just count up the other side." 
She left him then with his better thought, 

And lifted her work with a low, sweet 
song — 
A song that followed me many a year, 

Somehow or other we get along. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




SHE SUNG OF LOVE. 

She sung of love — while o'er her lyre 
The rosy rays of evening fell, 

As if to feed with their soft fire 

The soul within that trembling shell. 

The same rich light hung o'er her cheek, 
And play'd around those lips that sung 

And spoke, as flowers would sing and 
speak, 
If love could lend their leaves a tongue. 



IF. 



If thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth 

brings, 
Then would 1 scorn to change my place 

with kings. 



THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. 

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved 
a royal sport, 

And one day, as his lions strove, sat look- 
ing on the court: 

The nobles filled the benches round, the 
ladies by their side, 

And 'mongst them Count DeLorge, with 
one he hoped to make his bride; 

And truly 't was a gallant thing to see 
that crowning show, 

Valor and love, and a king above, and the 
royal beasts below. 

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid 

laughing jaws; 
They bit, they glared, gave blows like 

beams, a wind went with their 
paws; 
With wallowing might and stifled roar 

they rolled on one another, 
Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was 

in a thundrous smother; 
The bloody foam above the bars came 

whizzing through the air; 
Said Francis, then, " Good gentlemen, 

we're better here than there!" 



DeLorge's love o'erheard the king, a 

beauteous, lively dame, 
With smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, 

which always seemed the same; 
She thought, " The Count, my lover, is as 

brave as brave can be; 
He surely would do desperate things to 

show his love of me! 
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the chance 

is wondrous fine; 
I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; 

great glory will be mine." 

She dropped her glove, to prove his love; 

she looked on him and smiled; 
He bowed and in a moment leaped among 

the lions wild; 
The leap was quick, return was quick; he 

soon regained his place; 
Then threw the glove, but not with love, 

right in the lady's face! 
"In truth!" cried Francis, "rightly 

done! " and he rose from where he 
sat: 
" No love," quoth he, " but vanity, sets 

love a task like that!" 




THERE 'S NOT A LOOK. 

There 's not a look, a word of thine 

My soul hath e'er forgot; 
Thou hast ne'er bid a ringlet shine, 
Nor giv'n thy locks one graceful twine, 

Which I remember not. 

There never yet a murmur fell 
From that beguiling tongue, 
Which did not, with a lingering spell, 
Upon my charmed senses dwell, 
Like something heaven had sung. 

Ah! that I could at once forget 
All, all that haunts me so — 
And yet, thou witching girl ! — and yet, 
To die were sweeter than to let 
The loved remembrance go! 

No; if this slighted heart must see 

Its faithful pulse decay, 
Oh! let it die, remembering thee, 
And, like the burnt aroma, be 

Consum'd in sweets away! 





342 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




SWEET SEDUCER. 

Sweet seducer! blandly smiling; 
Charming still, and still beguiling! 
Oft I swore to love thee never, 
Yet I love thee more than ever. 

Turn away those lips of blisses — 
I am poisoned by thy kisses! 
Yet, again, ah! turn them to me: 
Ruin 's sweet, when they undo me! 



JIM'S EPITAPH. 

Dear Jim, thou art gone from our midst, 

And thy loss we sincerely mourn — 
No one liv'd more squarely than thou 
didst, 

And hence our hot tear-drops 
pour'n. 
We laid thee to rest 'neath the sod, 

And grievously bade thee adieu, 
And we know that the merciful Cod 

Hain't no squarer angel than you. 



are 



WHAT WAS HIS CREED? 

He left a load of anthracite 

In front of a poor widow's door, 

When the deep snow, frozen and white, 
Wrapped street and square, mountain 
and moor. 

That was his deed, he did it well. 

"What was his creed?" I cannot tell. 

Blest "in his basket and his store," 
In sitting down and rising up, 

When more he got, he gave the more, 
Withholding not the crust and cup. 

He took the lead in each good task — 

"What was his creed?" I did not ask. 

His charity was like the snow, 

Soft, white and silken in its fall; 
Not like the noisy winds that blow 

From shivering trees the leaves, a pall 
For flower and weed, dropping below. 
"What was his creed?" The poor may 
know. 
IrP 



He had great faith in loaves of bread 
For hungry people, young and old; 

And hope-inspiring words he said 
To him he sheltered from the cold. 

For man must feed, as well as pray. 

"What was his creed?" I cannot say. 

In words he did not put his trust; 

In faith his words were never writ; 
He loved to share his cup and crust 

With any one who needed it. 
In time of need, a friend was he — 
"What was his creed?" He told not me. 

He put his trust in heaven, and worked 
Ever along with hand and head; 

And what he gave in charity 

Sweetened his sleep and daily bread. 

Let us take heed, for life is brief! 

Adopt his creed, and give relief. 



LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 

It was not a word, 

It was only a look 
From your eyes, true and clear 
As the wild mountain brook; 
A look of such love, of such ownership, 

too, 
I forgot there was any one living but you. 

None saw it but me, 

But it beamed from your eyes, 
Swift, sweet into mine 
Like an Alpine surprise, 
With strange trembling joy was my heart 

thrilled all through, 
As it struggled in vain 'gainst the rap- 
ture so new. 

It was not a word, it was only a look! 

But easy to read as a printed book; 

So tender, so mastering, without touch or 

tone, 
It caught me, it held me, and made me 

your own. 



THE RED-HAIRED GIRL. 

We know that her nature is fiery, 
We know that her temper is quick, 

But when she 's in love she 's in earnest, 
And loves "like a thousand of brick." 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




SO LIVE. 

So live, that sinking to thy last long 

sleep, 
Thou then may'st smile while all around 

thee weep. 



OF ALL THE FLOWERS. 

Of all the flowers the gardens show 

(And this is truth I'm telling), 
Not one of all that brilliant row 
Can vie with her whose form I trow, 
The loveliest flower on earth I know, 
All other flowers excelling. 



GIVES ONE AWAY. 

A black hair on a dark dress coat 
Lies free from observation, 

While red hair gives you dead away, 
And tells who 's your attraction. 



GALLEYBAD. 



As I went down to Galleybad, 
There I met a shepherd lad, 
He wrapped me neatly in his plaid, 
And then called me his dearie. 

Will you go down the water-side, 
And see the waves so gently glide? 
Beneath the yew tree, spreading wide, 
The moon is shining brightly. 

You shall have gowns and ribbons meet, 
Prunella shoes upon your feet, 
And in my arms shall sweetly sleep, 
And you shall be my dearie. 

If you'll but stand by what you've said, 
I '11 go with you, my shepherd lad, 
And you may wrap me in your plaid, 
And I will be your dearie. 

For I was bred in no such school, 
My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
And all the day to sit and drule, 
With nobody to see me. 




A PROPOSAL. 

"0 Nellie fair, I love thee dear; 

canst thou think to fancy me? 
And will you leave your mother's cot 

And go and till the farm with me?" 

Now what could artless Nellie do? 

She had no will to say him no: 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was sworn between the two. 



THE DAISY. AN EMBLEM. 

The daisy amus'd my fond fancy, 
So artless, so simple, so wild; 

Thou emblem, said I, of my Phyllis, 
For she is simplicity's child. 

The rosebud 's the blush of my charmer, 
Her sweet, balmy lip when 't is prest: 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast. 



SUCH ALWAYS MAY YOU BE. 

See to your book, young lady; let it be 
An index to your life — each page be pure 
By vanity unclouded, and by vice 
Unspotted. Cheerful be each modest leaf, 
Not rude; and pious be each written 

page. 
Without hypocrisy, be it devout; 
Without moroseness, be it serious; 
If sportive, innocent: and if a tear 
Blot its white margin, let it drop for 

those 
Whose wickedness needs pity more than 

hate. 
Hate no one — hate their vices, not them- 
selves. 
Spare many leaves for charity — that 

flower 
That better than the rose's first white 

bud 
Becomes a woman's bosom. There we 

seek 
And there we find it first. Such be your 

book, 
And such, young lady, always may you be. 



Ji> 



ft 



^ 



344 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP 



MY FRIEND. 

From men how different thou! — the 

while 
The sun of fortune smiles, they smile; 

But let a cloud appear, 
They 're off like shot: — thou art a warm, 
Kind-hearted friend, in every storm — 

With thee I need not fear. 



JEANIE'S POSIES. 

Dear Jeanie flourished fresh and fair, 
And bonnie bloomed her roses; 

But Johnnie came like frost in June 
And withered all her posies. 



DOWN IN THE VALLEY. 

Down in the valley come meet me to- 
night, 
And I '11 tell you your fortune truly 
As ever 't was told by the new moon's 
light, 
To a young maiden, shining as newly. 

But for the world let no one be nigh, 
Lest haply the stars should deceive me; 

These secrets between you and me and 
the sky, 
Should never go farther, believe me. 

And if at that hour the heavens be not 
dim, 

My science shall call up before you 
A male apparition — the image of him 

Whose destiny 't is to adore you. 

And if to that phantom thou wilt be kind, 
Around you so fondly he '11 hover, 

You '11 hardly, my dear, any difference 
find 
'Twixt him and a true living lover. 

What other events and thoughts may 
arise, 
As in destiny's book I 've not seen 
them, 
Must only be left to the stars and your 
eyes 
To settle ere morning between them. 

5r 



THEY KNOW NOT MY HEART. 

They know not my heart who believe 

there can be 
One stain of this earth in its feelings for 

thee; 
Who think, while I see thee in beauty's 

young hour, 
As pure as the morning's first dew on the 

flower, 
I could harm what I love — as the sun's 

wanton ray 
But smiles on the dew drop to waste it 

away. 

No — beaming with light as those young 
features are, 

There's a light round thy heart which is 
lovelier far: 

It is not that cheek — 't is the soul dawn- 
ing clear 

Through its innocent blush makes thy 
beauty so dear; 

As the sky we look up to, though glorious 
and fair, 

Is looked up to the more because beauty 
is there! 



I FONDLY THINK. 

Oft I fondly think, though seeming 

So fall'n and clouded now, 
Thou 'It again break forth all beaming, 

None so bright, so blest as thou! 

From this hour the pledge is given, 
From this hour my soul is thine: 

Come what will from earth or Heaven, 
Weal or woe, thy fate be mine. 



A GLIMPSE. 



So brief our existence, a glimpse at the 
most, 
Is all we can have of the few we hold 
dear; 
And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, 
For want of some heart that could echo 
it near. 



is 



;gv?" 






A BOOK OF POEMS 






.< 



345^ 



JEANIE'S FACE. 

When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, 

I could not tell what ailed me, 
My heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 

My eyes they almost failed me. 
She was so neat, so trim, so sweet, 

All grace did round her hover, 
One look deprived me of my heart, 

And I became her lover. 



WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. 

When cold in the earth lies the friend 
thou hast loved, 
Be his faults and his follies forgot by 
thee then; 
Or, if from their slumber the veil be re- 
moved, 
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it 
again. 
And oh! if 'tis pain to remember how 
far 
From the pathways of light he was 
tempted to roam, 
Be it bliss to remember that thou wert 
the star 
That arose on his pathway and guided 
him home. 



NANCY. 



You ask me, dear Nancy, what makes me 
presume 
That you cherish a secret affection for 
me? 
When we see the flow'rs bud, do n't we 
look for the bloom? 
Then, sweetest, attend, while I answer 
to thee. 

When we young men with pastimes the 
twilight beguile, 
I watch your plump cheek till it dimples 
with joy: 
And observe, that whatever occasions the 
smile, 
You give me a glance, but provokingly 
coy. 



Last month, when wild strawberries, 
pluck'd in the grove, 
Like heads on the tall seeded grass you 
had strung, 
You gave me the choicest; I hop'd 'twas 
for love; 
And I told you my hopes while the 
nightingale sung. 

Remember the viper; — 't was close at your 
feet, 
How you started and threw yourself 
into my arms; 
Not a strawberry there was so ripe nor 
so sweet 
As the lips which I kiss'd to subdue 
your alarms. 

As I pulled down the clusters of nuts for 
my fair, 
What a blow I receiv'd from a strong 
bending bough ! 
Though Lucy and other gay lasses were 
there, 
Not one of them show'd such compas- 
sion as you. 

And was it compassion? — by heav'n 
't was more ! 
A tell-tale betrays you; — that blush on 
your cheek; 
Then come, dearest maid, all your trifling 
give o'er, 
And whisper what candor will teach 
you to speak. 

Can you stain my fair honor with one 
broken vow? 
Can you say that I 've ever occasioned 
a pain ? 
On truth's honest base let your tenderness 
grow; 
I swear to be faithful again and again. 



ENOUGH. 



Lord! when you have enough, what need 

you care 
How merrily soever others fare. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY WEDDED WIFE. 

I think this wedded wife of mine 
The best of all things not divine. 



THE WOODLAND HALLO. 

In our cottage that peeps from the skirts 
of the wood, 
I am mistress, no mother have I; 
Yet blithe are my days, for my father is 
good, 
And kind is my lover, hard by; 
They both work together beneath the 
green shade, 
Both woodmen, my father and Joe; 
Where I 've listen'd whole hours to the 
echo that made 
So much of a laugh or — Hallo. 

From my basket at noon they expect their 
supply, 
And with joy from my threshold I 
spring; 
For the woodlands I love, and the oaks 
waving high, 
And echo that sings as I sing. 
Though deep shades delight me, yet love 
is my food 
As I call the dear name of my Joe; 
His musical shout is the pride of the 
wood, 
And my heart leaps to hear the — Hallo. 

Simple flowers of the grove, little birds 
live at ease, 
I wish not to wander from you; 
I '11 still dwell beneath the deep roar of 
your trees, 
For I know that my Joe will be true. 
The thrill of the robin, the coo of the 
dove, 
Are charms that I'll never forego; 
But resting through life on the bosom of 
love, 
Will remember the Woodland Hallo. 



MOTHER-LOVE. 

Over my heart in the days that are flown, 
\ No love like mother-love ever has shone. 



I SEND THE LILIES. 

I send the lilies given to me; 

Though long before thy hand 
touch, 
I know that they must withered be, 

But yet reject them not as such; 



they 



For I have cherished them as dear, 

Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
And guide your soul to mine e'en here, 
When thou behold'st them drooping 
nigh, 
And know'est them gathered by the 

Rhine, 
And offered from my heart to thine. 



ROSAMOND. 



Now if thy foot touch hemlock as it goes, 
That hemlock's made far sweeter than 
the rose. 



THE GOLDEN RULE. 

Nay, speak no ill, a kindly word 
Can never leave a sting behind; 

And oh, to breathe each tale we've heard, 
Is far beneath a noble mind. 

Full oft a better seed is sown, 

By choosing thus the kinder plan; 

For if but little good be known, 
Still let us speak the best we can. 

Then speak no ill, but lenient be 
To others failings as your own, 

If you 're the first the fault to see, 
Be not the first to make it known. 

For life is but a passing day, 

No life may tell how brief its span; 

Then oh ! what little time we stay 
Let 's speak of all the best we can. 



THE LETTER G. 

If from this glove you take the letter G, 

Glove turns to love, which I devote to 

thee. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 

SATOR, AREPO, TENET, OPERA, ROTAS. 

1st. This spells backward and forward 
all the same. 

2d. Then taking all the first letters of 
each word spells the first word. 

3d. Then all the second letters of each 
word spells the second word. 

4th. Then all the third, and so on 
throughout the fourth and fifth. 

5th. Then commencing with the last 
letter of each word spells the last word. 

6th. Then the next to the last of each 
word, and so on through all the words. 



HAS ANY OLD FELLOW. 

Has there any old fellow got mixed with 
the boys, 

If there has take him out, without mak- 
ing a noise. 



LOVE IS ETERNAL. 

Love is eternal, so the strong souls say, 
But seeing how hard life doth give the 

lie 
Unto the mighty words with sneer or 
sigh, 
The weaker ones cry out in sad dismay 
That love is changeful as an April day, 
Holding within itself no strength 

whereby 
It can the subtle shafts of time defy, 
And in the heart of man abide alway. 

Not every heart is great enough to hold 
A great immortal tenant. Love hath 
fled 
Always from natures narrow, weak and 
cold. 
Know, when by scornful lips you hear 
it said 
That love is traitor, that the truth is told 
Not of dear love, but of that soul in- 
stead. 



THE GIRL I LOVE. 

The girl I love, 
There 's nothing else worth living for; 

Search realms below and realms above, 
All nature's boundless charms explore,] 

You cannot bring 
As her I love, so sweet a thing. 

There is a spot 
Where oft we've met — and oh, when 
there 
With her I love, no happier lot 
Can 1 desire — nor could I care 

Though nature all 
Should into instant ruin fall, 

If only she, 
And that one little hallow'd spot, 

Could be but sav'd where we might flee, 
And meet when all things else were not — 

There all life's hours 
Would strew around us love's own flowers. 



LINES ON SEEING WIPE AND 

CHILDREN SLEEPING IN 

THE SAME CHAMBER. 

And has the earth lost its so spacious 
round, 
The sky its blue circumference above, 
That in this little chamber there is found 
Both earth and heaven — my universe 
of love? 

All that my God can give me or remove, 
Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic 
death, 
Sweet that in this small compass I behove 
To live their living, and to breath their 
breath ! 

Almost I wish, that with one common 
sigh, 
We might resign all mundane care and 
strife; 
And seek together that transcendant sky, 
Where father, mother, children, hus- 
band, wife, 
Together live in everlasting life. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




DISTRUST. 

On earth they loved and parted, not be- 
cause 
Of jealous quarrel, nor the pride or greed 
Of parents; nor, like Verona's lovers, 
Had they a feud of race to overcome. 
But each had seeu what pleasure calls 

the World. 
Its smoke was in their eyes, and in each 

heart, 
Deep T down, it sowed a little seed — dis- 
trust ! 
So, while with eyes and lips they spoke 

their love, 
Each sought to read the other's thoughts, 

and failed, 
And turned away, for each had learned 

that lips 
And eyes can lie to screen a faithless 

heart. 
They met again upon that unknown 

shore 
That stretches on the other side of death. 
They met with joy, expecting that the 

cloud 
Would roll — like Christian's burden — 

from their hearts. 
But as he clasped her willing hand in 

his, 
And even as she marked his glowing eye, 
The shadow fell upon them, and their 

hands 
Were silently unloosed. The old distrust 
Still came between them there as on the 

earth: 
They turned away — this time to meet no 

more. 



COME, LET US KISS AND PART. 

Since there's no help — come let us kiss 
and part. 
Nay, I have done, — you get no more 
of me; 
And I am glad, — yea, glad with all my 
heart, 
That thus so clearly I myself can free. 

Shake hands forever! cancel all our vows; 

And if we meet at any time again, 
Be it not seen in either of our brows, 

That we one jot of former love retain. 



IN DEEP SORROW. 

Sad is my song to-night, and brief as sad, 
For my long-suffering heart is fit to 

break. 
Do what I will, the one glad note I had 

I cannot, cannot wake. 

Grief, that for many and many a season 

past 
I have repressed, though oft so sorely 

tried, 
Breaks in upon me, wave on wave, at last, 

And will not be denied. 

Two troublous figures will arise upon 
And float before my sight, whate'er 

I do; 
One is my tearful Past, my Future one, 

And that is tearful too! 



LOVE — ELLA. 

Love came and brought sorrow 

Too soon in his train; 
Yet so sweet, that to-morrow 

'Twere welcome again. 
Though misery's full measure 

My portion should be, 
I would drain it with pleasure, 

If poured out by thee. 

You who call it dishonor 

To bow to this flame, 
If you 've eyes look but on her, 

And blush while you blame. 
Hath the pearl less whiteness 

Because of its birth? 
Hath the violet less brightness 

For growing near earth? 

No — man for his glory, 

To ancestry flies; 
While woman's bright story 

Is told in her eyes. 
While the monarch but traces 

Thro' mortals his line, 
Beauty, born of the Graces, 

Ranks next to divine. 




GV : 






"^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



349 






TRIBUTE TO HENRY WARD 
BEECHER. 

f The following is the beautifnl tribute, in full, to the 
memory of Henry Ward Beecher. Delivered by Col. 
Robert G. Ingersoll. 

Henry Ward Beecher was born in a 
Puritan penitentiary, of which his father 
was one of the wardens — a prison with 
very narrow and closely-grated windows. 
Under its walls were the rayless, hope- 
less, and measureless dungeons of the 
damued, aud on its roof fell the shadow 
of God's eternal frown. In this prison 
the creed and catechism were primers for 
children, and from a pure sense of duty 
their loving hearts were stained and 
scarred with the religion of John Calvin. 

In those days the home of an orthodox 
minister was an inquisition in which 
babes were tortured for the good of their 
souls. Children, then, as now, rebelled 
against the absurdities and cruelties of 
the creed. No Calvinist was ever able, 
unless with blows, to answer the ques- 
tions of his child. Children were raised 
in what was called " The Nurture and 
Admonition of the Lord 11 — that is to say, 
their wills were broken or subdued, their 
natures deformed and dwarfed, their de- 
sires defeated or destroyed, and their de- 
velopment arrested or perverted. Life 
was robbed of its spring, its summer, and 
its autumn; children stepped from the 
cradle into the snow. No laughter, no 
sunshine, no joyous, free, unburdened 
days. God, an infinite detective, watched 
them from above, and Satan, with mali- 
cious leer, was waiting for their souls be- 
low. Between these monsters life was 
passed. Infinite consequences were predi- 
cated of the smallest action, and a bur- 
den greater than a God could bear was 
placed upon the heart and brain of every 
child. To think, to ask questions, to 
doubt, to investigate, were acts of re- 
bellion. To express pity for the lost, 
writhing in the dungeons below, was 
to give evidence that the enemy of souls 
had been at work within their hearts. 

Among all the religions of this world — 

om the creed of cannibals, who de- 




voured flesh, to that of Calvinists, who 
polluted souls — there is none, there has 
been none, there will be none, more ut- 
terly heartless and inhuman than was 
the Orthodox Congregationalism of New 
England in the year of grace 1813. It 
despised everynatural joy, hated pictures, 
abhorred statues as lewd and lustful 
things, execrated music, regarded nature 
as fallen and corrupt, man as totally de- 
praved, and woman as something worse. 
The theatre was the vestibule of perdi- 
tion, actors the servants of Satan, and 
Shakespeare a trifling wi-etch, whose 
words were seeds of death. 

And yet, the virtues found a welcome, 
cordial and sincere; duty was done as 
understood, obligations were discharged, 
truth was told; self-denial was practiced 
for the sake of others; and hearts were 
good and true, in spite of book and 
creed. 

In this atmosphere of theological mias- 
ma, in this hideous dream of superstition; 
in this penitentiary, moral and austere, 
this babe first saw the imprisoned gloom. 
The natural desires ungratified, the 
laughter suppressed,the logic brow-beaten 
by authority, the hum or frozen by fear — 
of many generations — were in this child, 
a child destined to rend and wreck the 
prison's walls. 

Through grated windows of his cell, 
this child, this man, caught glimpses of 
the outer world, of fields and skies. New 
thoughts were in his brain, new hopes 
within his heart. Another Heaven bent 
above his life. There came a revelation 
of the beautiful and real. Theology 
grew mean and small. Nature wooed and 
won and saved this mighty soul. Her 
countless hands were sowingseeds within 
his tropic brain. All sights and sounds — 
all colors, forms and fragments — were 
stored within the treasury of his mind. 
His thoughts were molded by the grace- 
ful curves of streams, by winding paths 
in woods; the charm of quiet country 
roads, and lanes grown indistinct with 
weeds and grass — by vines that cling 
and hide with leaf and flower the crumb- 



ling wall's decay 



• by cattle standing in < 




350 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




the summer pools like statues of con- 
tent. 

There was within his words the subtle 
spirit of the season's change — of every- 
thing that is, of everything that lies be- 
tween the slumbering seeds, that half 
awakened by the April rain, have dreams 
of Heaven's blue, and feel the amorous 
kisses of the sun, and that strange tomb 
wherein the alchemist doth give to 
death's cold dust the throb and thrill of 
life again. 

He saw with loving eyes the willows of 
the meadow streams grow red beneath 
the glance of spring — the grass along 
the marsh's edge — the stir of life be- 
neath the withered leaves — the moss be- 
low the drip of snow — the flowers that 
give their bosoms to the first south wind 
that woos — the sad and timid violets 
that only bear the gaze of love from eyes 
half closed — the ferns, where fancy 
gives a thousand forms without a single 
plan — the green and sunny slopes en- 
riched with daisy's silver and the cow- 
slip's gold. 

As in the leafless woods some tree 
aflame with life stands like a rapt poet in 
the heedless crowd, so stood this man 
among his fellow-men. 

All there is of leaf and bud, of flower 
and fruit, of painted insect life, and all 
the winged and happy children of the air 
that summer holds beneath her dome of 
blue, were known and loved of him. 

He loved the yellow autumn fields, the 
golden stacks, the happy homes of men, 
the orchard's bending boughs, the 
sumach's flags of flame, the maples with 
transfigured leaves, the tender yellow of 
the beach, the wondrous harmonies of 
brown and gold — the vines where hang 
the clustered spheres of wit and mirth. 
He loved the winter days, the whirl and 
drift of snow — all forms of frost — the 
rage and fury of the storm, when in the 
forest, desolate and stripped, the brave 
old pine towers green and grand — a 
prophecy of spring. He heard the 
rythmic sound of nature's busy strife, 
the hum of bees, the songs of birds, the 
eagle's cry, the murmur of the streams, 



the sighs and lamentations of the winds, 
and all the voices of the sea. 

He loved the shores, the vales, the 
crags and cliffs, the city's busy streets, 
the introspective, silent plain, the solemn 
splendors of the night, the silver sea of 
dawn, and evening's clouds of molten 
gold. 

The love of nature freed this loving 
man. 

One by one the fetters fell; the grat- 
ings disappeared, the sunshine smote the 
roof, and on the floors of stone light 
streamed from open doors. He realized 
the darkness and despair, the cruelty and 
hate, the starless blackness of the old 
malignant creed. The flower of pity 
grew and blossomed in his heart. The 
selfish " consolation " filled his eyes with 
tears. He saw that what is called the 
Christian's hope, is that among the 
countless billions wrecked, and lost, a 
meagre few perhaps may reach the eternal 
shore — a hope that, like the desert rain, 
gives neither leaf nor bud — a hope that 
gives no joy, no peace to any great and 
loving soul. It is the dust upon which 
the serpent feeds that coils in heartless 
breasts. 

Day by day the wrath and vengeance 
faded from the sky — the Jewish God 
grew vague and dim — the threats of 
torture and eternal pain grew vulgar and 
absurd, and all the miracles seemed 
strangely out of place. They clad the in- 
finite in motley garb, and gave to aureoled 
heads the cap and bells. 

Touched by the pathos of all human 
life, knowing the shadows that fall on 
every heart — the thorns in every path, 
the sighs, the sorrows, and the tears that 
lie between a mother's arms and death's 
embrace — this great and gifted man de- 
nounced, denied, and damned with all 
his heart the fanged and frightful dogma 
that souls were made to feed the eternal 
hunger — ravenous as a famine — of a 
God's revenge. 

Take out this fearful, fiendish, heart- 
less lie — compared with which all other 
lies are true — and the great arch of 
Orthodox Religion, crumbling, falls. 




*$a 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




To the average man the Christian hell 
and heaven are only words. He has no 
scope of thought. He lives but in a dim, 
impoverished now. To him, the past is 
dead — the future, still unborn.. He oc- 
cupies with downcast eyes that narrow 
line of barred, shifting sand that lies be- 
tween the flowing seas. But Genius 
knows all time. For him, the dead all 
live and breathe and act their countless 
parts again. All human life is in his 
now, and every moment feels the thrill 
of all to be. 

No one can ever estimate the good ac- 
complished by this marvelous, many- 
sided man. He helped to slay the heart- 
devouring monster of the Chris.' ian 
world. He tried to civilize the church, 
to humanize the creeds, to soften pious 
breasts of stone, take the fear from 
mothers' hearts, the chains of creed from 
every brain, to put the star of hope in 
every sky and over every grave. 

Attacked on every side, maligned by 
those who preached the law of love, he 
wavered not, but fought whole-hearted 
to the end. 

Obstruction is but virtue's soil. From 
thwarted light leaps color's flame — the 
stream impeded has a song. 

He passed from harsh and cruel creeds 
to that serene philosophy that has no 
place for pride, or hate; that threatens no 
revenge; that looks on sin as stumblings 
of the blind, and pities those who fall, 
knowing, that in the soul of all, there is 
a sacred yearning for the light. He 
ceased to think of man as something 
thrust upon the world — an exile from 
some other sphere. He felt at last that 
men are part of nature's self — kindred 
of all life — the gradual growth of count- 
less years: that all the sacred books were 
helps, until outgrown, and all religions 
rough and devious paths that man has 
worn with weary feet in sad and painful 
search for truth and peace. To him 
these paths were wrong, and yet, all gave 
promise of success. He knew that all the 
streams, no matter how they wander, 
turn and curve amid the hills and rocks, 




or linger in the lakes and pools, must 
sometime reach the sea. 

These views enlarged his soul and made 
him patient with the world, and while 
the wintry snows of age were falling on 
his head, spring, with all her wealth of 
bloom, was in his heart. 

The memory of this ample man is now 
a part of nature's wealth. He battled 
for the rights of men. His heart was 
with the slave. He stood amidst the 
selfish greed of millions banded to pro- 
tect the pirate's trade. His voice was for 
the right when freedom's friends were 
few. He taught the church to think 
and doubt. He did not fear to stand 
alone. His brain took counsel of his 
heart. To every foe he offered reconcil- 
iation's hand. He loved this land of 
ours, and added to its glory through the 
world. He was the greatest orator that 
stood within the pulpit's narrow curve. 
He loved the liberty of speech. There 
was no trace of bigot in his blood. He 
was a brave and generous man, and so 
with reverent hands I place this tribute 
on his tomb. 

Robert G. Ingersoll. 



REMEMBER THEE. * 

Remember thee! yes, while there's life 
in this heart, 

It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou 
art, 

More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and 
thy showers, 

Than the rest of the world in their sun- 
niest hours. 



Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, 

glorious, and free, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem of 
CUT the sea, ^ 

I might hail thee with prouder, with 
~ZZZ happier brow, C3 

But oh! could I love thee more deeply 
than now? 



°352 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P\ 



CONTENTMENT. 

They may rail at this life, from the hour 
I began it, 
I found it a life full of kindness and 
bliss; 
And until they show me a happier planet, 
More social and bright, I '11 content me 
with this. 
As long as the world has such lips and 
such eyes. 
As before me this moment, enraptur'd 
I see, 
They may say what they will of their 
orbs in the skies. 
But this earth is the, planet for you, 
love, and me. 

In the star of the west, by whose shadowy 
splendor, 
At twilight so often we 've roam'd 
through the dew, 
There are maidens perhaps, who have 
bosoms as tender, 
And look in the twilights as lovely as 
you. 
But tho' they were even more bright 
than the queen 
Of that isle they inhabit in Heaven's 
blue sea, 
As I never those fair young celestials 
have seen, 
Why — this earth is the planet for 
you, love, and me. 

As for those chilly orbs on the verge of 
creation, 
Where sunshine and smiles must be 
equally rare, 
Did they want a supply of cold hearts for 
that station, 
Heav'r knows we have plenty on earth 
we could spare. 
But as long as this harp can be wakened 
to love 
And that eye its divine inspiration shall 
be, 
They may talk as they will of their Edens 
above, 
But this earth is the planet for you, 
love, and me. 
IrP 



PAUL. 

Paul, knowing one could never serve our 

turn, 
Declar'd 'twas better far to wed than 

burn. 



DICKENS IN CAMP. 

Above the pines the moon was slowly 
drifting, 

The river sang below; 
The dim Sierras far beyond, uplifting 

Their minarets of suow. 

The roaring camp-fire with rude humor 
painted 
The ruddy tints of health 
On haggard face, and form that drooped 
and fainted 
In the fierce race for wealth; 

Till one arose, and from his pack's scant 
treasure 
A hoarded volume drew. 
And cards were dropped from hands of 
listless leisure 
To hear the tale anew; 

And then, while round their shadows 
gathered faster, 
And as the firelight fell, 
He read aloud the book wherein the 
master 
Had writ of "Little Nell." 



ALL SHALL FADE. 

Since painted or not painted, all shall 

fade, 
And she who scorns a man must live a 

maid. 



BRING JENNY SAFE HOME. 

Bring Jenny safe home, the mother said, 

don't you stay 
To pull a bough, or pick a berry by the 

way. 




S3?- 




m 

TJ 

m 

H 
05 





23 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




AH, ME. 

Ah, me, past days remembered make us 

sigh, 
And tears will sometimes flow, we know 

not why. 



LOVE'S FOLLIES. 

When lulled in passion's dream my senses 
slept, 
How did I act? — e'en as a wayward 
child; 
I smiled with pleasure when I should have 
wept, 
And wept with sorrow when I should 
have smiled. 

When'Gracia, beautiful but faithless fair, 

Who long in passion's bonds my heart 

had kept, 

First with false blushes pitied my despair, 

I smiled with pleasure! — should I not 

have wept? 

And when, to gratify some wealthier 
wight, 
She left to grief the heart she had be- 
guiled, 
The heart grew sick, and saddening at 
the sight, 
I wept with sorrow ! — should I not 
have smiled? 



LOVE NOT. 



Lovenot, love not! The thing you love 
may change, 
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you; 
The kindly beaming eye grow cold and 
strange, 
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be 
true. 



THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

I Ve been a devil the most of my life, 
But ne'er was in h — 11 till I married a 
wife. 




THE WIDOWER. 

doth it walk — that spirit bright and 

pure, 
And may it, disembodied, ever come 
Back to this earth? I do not, dare not 

hope 
A reappearance of that kindest eye, 
Or of that smoothest cheek or sweetest 

voice ; 
But can she see my tears when I, alone, 
Weep by her grave? and may she leave 

the throng 
Where angels minister and saints adore, 
To visit this sad earth! 

When, as the nights 
Of fireside winter gather chilly round, 

1 kiss my little child and lay me down 
Upon a widow'd pillow, doth she leave 
Those glorious, holy, heavenly essences, 
Those sacred perfumes round the throne 

on high, 
To keep a watch upon me, and upon 

ours? 
Her I did love, and I was lov'd again, 
And had it been my mortal lot, instead 
I would, were 1 accepted, ask my God 
For one more look upon my wife and 

child. 



THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT, TO 
MEMORY DEAR. 

Sweetheart, good-bye! the fluttering sail 

Is spread to waft me far from thee, 
And soon before the favoring gale 

My ship shall bound upon the sea. 
Perchance, all desolate and forlorn, 

These eyes shall miss thee many a year, 
But unforgotten every charm, 

Though lost to sight, to memory dear. 

Sweetheart, good-bye! one last embrace! 

Oh, cruel fate, true souls to sever! 
Yet in this heart's most sacred place 

Thou, thou alone, shalt dwell forever! 
And still shall recollections trace 

In fancy's mirror, ever near, 
Each smile, each tear, that form, that 
face, 



Though lost to sight, to memory dear^ 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HAPPINESS. 

If solid happiness we prize, 
Within our breast this jewel lies; 

And they are fools who roam; 
The world hath nothing to bestow, — 
From our own selves our bliss must flow, 

And that dear hut — our home. 



Though 



fools 



spurn Hymen's 
pow'rs, 
We, who improve his golden hours, 

By sweet experience know 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good 
A paradise below. 



gentle 



WOMEN, MEN'S SHADOWS. 

Follow a shadow, it still flies you, 
Seem to fly it, it will pursue: 
So court a mistress, she denies you; 
Let her alone, she will court you. 
Say, are not women truly, then, 
Styled but the shadows of us men. 



A LITERARY CURIOSITY. 

The poem below, which was first published in the 
Knickerbocker Magazine, is made up of single lines 
from twenty-five English and American poets, begin- 
ning with Longfellow and ending with Byron. It would 
take some time to affix each writer's name to his line or 
lines, though the majority are, of course, well known: 

" Pearls at random strung. 
By future poets shall be sung." 

The night has come, but not too soon; 
Westward the course of empire takes 
its way; 
Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon! 
Blue spirits and white, black spirits 
and gray. 

Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 

Old Casper's work was done: 
Piping on hollow reeds to his pent sheep, 

Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, 
on! 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
On Linden when the sun was low: 

A voice replied far up the height, 
Tall oaks from little acorns grow. 




What if a little rain should say, 

I have not loved the world, nor the 
world me: 

Ah ! well a-day ! 

Woodman, spare that tree! 

My heart leaps up with joy to see 
A primrose by the water's brim: 

Zaccheus he did climb the tree: 

Few of our youth could cope with him. 

The prayer of Ajax was for light, 

The light that never was on sea or 
shore. 

Pudding and beef make Britons fight 
Never more! 

Under a spreading chestnut tree, 

For hours together sat, 
I and my Annabel Lee; 

A man 's a man for a' that. 

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert 
air. 

In thunder, lightning, or in rain, 
None but the brave deserve the fair. 

Tell me not in mournful numbers, 
The child's father of the man; 

Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber, 
They can conquer who believe they can. 



A change came o'er the spirit of 
dream; 

Whatever is, is right; 
And things are not what they seem; 

My native land, good-night! 

And so I won my Genevieve, 

And walked in Paradise; 
The fairest flower that ever bloomed, 

Atween me and the skies. 



my 



AVE MARIA. 



Ave Maria! o'er the earth, and land, and 
sea, 

The heavenliest hour of heaven is wor- 
thiest thee. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

That sacred hour can I forget? 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace, 

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last. 



MY MOTHER. 

My mother, when I learned that thou 
wast dead, 

Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I 
shed? 

Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 

Wretch even then, life's journey just be- 
gun? 

I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, 

I saw the hearse that bore thee slow 
away, 

And turning from my nurs'ry window, 
drew 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu. 



LIZZIE. 



What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee, who art so beautiful. 



FORGET ME NOT. 

"Forget me not! oh, love, forget me not!" 

Could there in life be possible such 

chance? 

Could there exist on earth so rare a spot, 

That I might e'er forget one word or 

glance 

You ever gave? No, I shall not forget. 

Forget-me-not, thy tiny blossoms blue 
Were sent o'er weary wastes to ask this 
boon; 
Oh, absent darling, need I ask of you 
If love can die while life is at its noon, 
ask if you still love, or love regret? 




Sweet, tender blossom, lying on my breast, 
With scarce an odor to disclose your 
place, 
I know his fingers have your petals 
pressed, 
And so bless you in your withered 
grace 
And clasp you fondly to my warm heart 
yet. 

"Forget me not!" Sweatheart,love ne'er 
forgets ! 
Fate drifts us each by many different 
ways; 
To some the sunlight earlier fades or sets; 
Each year has its December and its 
May; 
Let time nor change our truest heart- 
thoughts fret. 

Nor I nor you can half our love forget; 
Drift we all separate though we may 
or will, 
I have not one dear blessing to regret, 
And love you fondly with my whole 
soul still; 
Forget me not — nor will I e'er forget. 



FLORENCE VANE. 

Thou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme; 
Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main; 
Would I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane. 



JUST LIKE A WOMAN. 

All she did was but to wear out day. 
Full oftentimes she leave of him did 
take: 
And oft again devised something to say, 
Which she forgot, whereby excuse to 
make; 
So loath was she his company to f orsa 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ADVICE. 

Take the open air, 

The more you take the better; 
Follow nature's laws 

To the very letter. 
Let the doctors go 

To the Bay of Biscay; 
Let alone tlie gin, 

The brandy and the whiskey. 
Freely exercise, 

Keep your spirits cheerful; 
Let no dread of sickness 

Make you ever fearful. 
Eat the simplest food, 

Drink the pure, cold water, 
Then you will have health, 

Or at least you oughter. 



SOME TIME, 

Some time, when all life's lessons have 
been learned. 
And sun and stars forevermore have set, 
The things which our weak judgments 
here have spurned, 
The things o'er which we grieved with 
lashes wet, 
Will flash before us, out of life's dark 
night, 
And stars shine most in deeper tints of 
blue; 
And we shall see how all God's plans are 
right, 
And how what seemed reproof was love 
most true. 

And we shall see how, while we frown 
and sigh, 
God's plans go on as best for you and 
me; 
How, when we called, he heeded not one 
cry, 
Because his wisdom to the end could 
see. 
And even as wise parents disallow 

Too much of sweet to craving baby- 
hood, - 
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now 
Life's sweetest things, because it seem- 
eth good. 



And if, sometimes, commingled with 
life's wine, 
We find the wormwood, and rebel and 
shrink, 
Be sure a wiser haud than yours or mine 
Pours out this potion for our lips to 
drink; 
And if some friend we love is lying low, 
Where human kisses cannot reach his 
face, 
Oh, do not blame the Loving Father so, 
But wear your sorrow with obedient 



grace 



And you shall shortly learn that length- 
en'd breath 
Is not the sweetest gift God sends his 
friend, 
And that sometimes the sable pall of 
death 
Conceals the fairest boon his love can 
send. 
If we could push ajar the gates of life, 
And stand within, and all God's work- 
ings see, 
We could interpret all this doubt and 
strife, 
And for each mystery could find a key! 

But not to-day. Then be content, poor 
heart ! 
God's plans, like lilies, pure and white 
unfold; 
We must not tear the close-shut leaves 
apart, 
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
And if, through patient toil, we reach the 
land 
Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, 
may rest, 
When we shall clearly see and under- 
stand, 
I think that we will say, " God knew 
the best!" 



THE STRANGER. 

The stranger at my fireside cannot see 
The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I 
hear; 

He but perceives what is; while unto me 
All that has been is visible and clear. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE PROPER PLACE FOR 
COURTING. 

The proper place for courting, 
By the story books reporting, 
Is some lane or meadow pathway, out of 
sight of town 
With the sweetness blowing over 
From the fields of beans and clover, 
And the sky-lark dropping westward as 
the sun goes down. 

When my Sally's sweetness found me, 
I was like the men around me, 
I was coarse, and low and selfish, as the 
beast that dies: 
But her grace began to win me, 
And my heart was changed within me, 
And I learned to love from gazing in 
my darling's eyes. 



MY UNCLE AUGUSTUS. 

My Uncle Augustus, Lord Wellington 
Wilkes, 
He married Maria Angelica Plummer: 
She embroidered his great coat with sat- 
ins and silks, 
And he liked it so well, that he wore 
it all summer. 



FARMER DRONE'S COMPLAINT. 

I believe that fate 's agin me, wife, 

As sure as you are born — 
My 'taters ain't worth pickin' up, 

I 've precious little corn. 
I planted when the sign was right — 

Folks said my seed was poor, 
But then, I had a plenty on 't, 

And put in all the more. 

The plants were sickly when they came, 

And so 1 had to wait, 
Until the weeds had grown so big 

I could n't cultivate. 
But I have done the best I could, 

So 'twas no fault o' mine; 
I planted in the growing moon, 

A.nd f ollered every sign. 




I hadn't time to haul manure, 

Nor did it seem quite right 
To put much time into a crop, 

Then have it turn out light. 
As 'tis, I '11 scarcely get half pay 

For what my labor cost; 
And if I 'd put in twice as much 

Just think what I 'd 'ave lost! 

I know my neighbors say I'm slow, 

And think I try to shirk; 
They tell me that my farmin' tools 

Ain't fit for no more work. 
My father's good old drag and plow, 

They say ain't worth a " shuck " — 
And all such gossip comes about 

Just through my plaguy luck. 

I always have the poorest crops 

When everything is high — 
The fact is, fate's agin me, wife, 

An 't 'ain't no use to try. 
I think I '11 have to quit the farm, 

Somehow we don't agree. 
Perhaps, if I try somethin else, 

My luck will come to me. 



LOVE AND DINNER. 

Ah ! love in a cottage is all very fine, 
And kisses are sweet when the loving 
take 'em! 
But there 's naught in this world, when 
you sit down to dine, 
Like the girl who knows well how to 
fry and to bake 'em — 
The dinners I mean, not the kisses or love, 
Though they both are all right, if you 
rightly have took 'em. 

If you want to keep in with your darling, 
your dove, 
Be careful, oh wives, and be sure how 
you cook 'em — 
The doves, now I mean, not the loves nor 
the men, 
But I whisper this secret: as sure as 
we 're sinners, 
The love will fly out of the windows, just 
when 
You fail to have ready acceptable din- 
ners. 








A BOOK OF POEMS 




IS THY NAME MARY? 

Is thy name Mary, maiden fair? 

Such should, methinks, its music be; 
The sweetest name that mortals bear, 

Were best befitting thee; 
And she to whom it ouce was given, 
Was half of earth and half of heaven. 

1 hear thy voice, I see thy smile, 
I look upon thy folded hair; 

Ah! while we dream not they beguile, 
Our hearts are in the share; 

And she who claims a wild bird's wings, 

Must start not if her captive sings. 

So, lady, take the leaf that falls, 
To all but thee unseen, unknown ; 

When evening shades thy silent walls, 
Then read it all alone; 

In stillness read, in darkness seal, 
Forget, despise, but not reveal! 




BOYS' RIGHTS. 

I wonder now if any one 

In this broad land has heard, 
In favor of down-trodden boys, 

One solitary word? 
We hear enough of "woman's rights," 

And " rights of workingmen," 
Of " equal rights " and " nation's rights," 

But pray just tell me when 
Boys' rights were ever spoken of? 

Why, we 've become so used 
To being snubbed by every one, 

And slighted and abused, 
That when one is polite to us 

We open wide our eyes, 
And stretch them in astonishment 

To nearly twice their size! 
Boys seldom dare to ask their friends 

To venture in the house — 
It don't come natural at all 

To creep round like a mouse; 
And if we should forget ourselves, 

And make a little noise, 
Then ma or auntie sure would say, 

"0 my! those dreadful boys!" 
The girls bang on the piano 

In peace; but if the boys 



Attempt a tune with fife and drum, 

It's — "Stop that horrid noise!" 
" That horrid noise! " just think of it, 

When sister never fails 
To make a noise three times as bad 

With everlasting "scales." 
Insulted thus we lose no time 

In beating a retreat; 
So off we go to romp and tear, 

And scamper in the street. 
No wonder that so many boys 

Such wicked men become; 
'Twere belter far to let them have 

Their games and plays at home. 
Perhaps that text the preacher quotes 

Sometimes — " Train up a child " — 
Means only train the little girls, 

And let the boys run wild. 
But patience, and the time will come 

When we shall all be men; 
And when it does, I rather think, 

Wrongs will be righted then. 



A DOGGEREAL BALLAD. 

A DOG-GONE STORY. 

Miss Serephina Sarah Noggs 

Loved above all things poodle dogs; 

So very fond of them was she 

That she would nurse them on her knee, 

And kiss them too. 0! happy dogs 

Of Serephina Sarah Noggs. 

Napoleon Simon Peter Roe 
Was Serephina Sarah's beau; 
And he was jealous of the dogs 
Of Serephina Sarah Noggs. 
He saw her kiss her poodle, Spot, 
He saw her and he liked it not. 

So up he went with loud protest, 
You seem to love the poodle best; 
You kiss the horrid brutes said he, 
But never kiss and fondle me! 
" True, true," said she, " but you forget 
That you are but a puppy yet! " 



Miss Serephina Sarah Noggs 
Is now left lonely with her dogs. 





A HOOK OF POEMS 




FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship, in truth, is but a name, 
Unless to few we stint the flame. 
The child who many fathers share, 
Hath seldom known a father's care. 
'"Tis thus in friendship;" who depend 
On many, rarely find a friend. 



WHEN FIRST I MET HER. 

When first I met thee, warm and young, 

There shone such truth about thee, 
And on thy lip such promise hung, 

I did not dare to doubt thee. 
I saw thee change, yet still relied, 

Still clung with hope the fonder, 
And thought though false to all beside, 
From me thou wouldst not wander. 
But go, deceiver! go, 

The heart whose hopes could make 
it 
Trust one so false, so low, 

Deserves that thou shouldst break 
it. 

When every tongue thy follies named, 

I fled the unwelcome story, 
Or found in e en the faults they blamed, 

Some gleams of future glory. 
I still was true when nearer friends ' 
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee, 
The heart that now thy falsehood rends, 
Would then have bled to right thee. 
But go, deceiver! go — 

Some day perhaps thou 'It waken 
From pleasure's dream, to know 
The grief of hearts forsaken. 

And days may come, thou false one! yet, 

When e'en those ties shall sever; 
When thou wilt call, with vain regret, 

On her thou'st lost forever! 
On her who, in thy fortune's fall, 

With smiles had still receiv'd thee, 
And gladly died to prove thee all 
Her fancy first believed thee. 
Then go — 't is vain to curse, 

'Tis weakness to upbraid thee; 
Hate cannot wish thee worse 

Than guilt and shame have made 
thee. 



THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW. 

Woe! for my vine-clad home! 
That it should ever be so dark to me, 
With its bright threshold and its whis- 
pering tree! 
That I should ever come, 
Fearing the lonely echo of a tread, 
Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious 
dead! 

Lead on, my orphan boy! 
Thy home is not so desolate to thee, 
And the low shiver in the linden tree, 

May bring to thee a joy; 
But, oh! how dark is the bright home 

before thee, 
To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee! 

Lead on! for thou art now 
My sole remaining helper, (rod hath 

spoken, 
And the strong heart I leaned upon is 
broken; 
And I have seen his brow, 
The forehead of my upright one and 

just, 
Trod by the hoof of battle to the dust. 

He will not meet thee there 
Who blessed thee at the eventide, my son! 
And when the shadows of the night steal 
on, 

He will not call to prayer. 
The lips that melted, giving thee to God, 
Are in the icy keeping of the sod ! 

Ay, my own boy ! thy sire 
Is with the sleepers of the valley cast, 
And the proud glory of my life hath past, 

With his high glance of fire. 
Woe! that the linden and the vine should 

bloom, 
And a just man be gathered to the tomb! 



RELIGION. 



To live uprightly, then is sure and best: 
To save onrselves and not to damn the 






A liOOK OF POEMS 




ENOCH ARDEN AT THE WINDOW. 

But Enoch yearned to see her face again; 
"If I might look on her sweet face again, 
And know that she is happy." So the 

thought 
Haunted ami harassed him, and drove him 

forth 
At evening, when the dull November day 
Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. 
There he sat down gazing at all below: 
There did a thousand memories roll upon 

him, 
Unspeakable for sadness. By and by 
The ruddy square of comfortable light, 
Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's 

house, 
Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures 
The bird of passage, till he madly strikes 
Against it and beats out his weary life. 

For Philip's dwelling .fronted on the 

street, 
The latest house to landward; but behind, 
With one small gate that opened on the 

waste, 
Flourished a little garden scjuare and 

walled; 
And in it throve an ancient evergreen, 
A yewtree, and all 'round it ran a walk 
Of shingle, and a walk divided it: 
But Enoch shunned the middle walk, and 

stole 
Up by the wall, behind the yew; and 

thence 
That which he better might have shunned, 

if griefs 
Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw. 

For cups and silver on the. burnished 

board 
Sparkled and shone; so genial was the 

hearth; 
And on the right hand of the hearth he 

saw 
Philip, the slighted suitor of old times, 
Stout, rosy, with his babe across his 

knees; 
And o'er her seeond father stoopt a girl, 
A later but a loftier Annie Lee, 
Fair haired and tall, and from her lifted 

hand 
Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring 



To tempt the babe, who reared his creasy 

arms, 
Caught at and ever missed it, and they 

laughed: 
And on the left hand of the hearth he 

saw 
The mother glancing often at her babe, 
But turning now and then to speak with 

him. 
Her son, who stood beside her tall and 

strong, 
And saying that which pleased him, for 

he smiled. 

Now when the dead man come to life 

beheld 
His wife — his wife no more, and saw the 

babe — 
Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, 
And all the warmth, the peace, the hap- 
piness, 
And his own children tall and beautiful, 
And him, that other, reigning in his 

place, 
Lord of his rights and of his children's 

love, — 
Then he, though Miriam Lane had told 

him all, 
Because things seen are mightier than 

things heard, 
Staggered and shook, holding the branch, 

and feared 
To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry, 
Which in one moment, like the blast of 

doom, 
Would shatter all the happiness of the 

hearth. 

He, therefore, turning softly, like a 
thief, 
Lest the harsh shingle should grate un- 
derfoot, 
And feeling all along the garden wall, 
Lest he should swoon and tumble and be 

found, 
Crept to the gate, and opened it, and 

closed, 
As lightly as a sick man's chamber door, 
Behind him, and came out upon the waste. 
An.d then he would have knelt, but that 

his knees 
Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug 
His fingers into the wet earth and prayed 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DEAD WIFE. 

I cannot touch his cheek, 
Nor ruffle with a loving breath his 
hair; 
I look into his eyes and hear him speak — 

He never knows that I am there ! 
Oh, if my darling would but only know 
That day and night through all his 
weary life, 
I, whom he loved in the years long ago, 
Am with him still — his wife ! 

I watch him at his task, 
When the broad sunbeams first light 
up his room ; 
I watch him till the evening lays her 
mask 
Upon the face of day: and in the 
gloom 
He lays his pencil down and silent sits, 
And leans his chin upon his hand and 
sighs: 
How well I know what memory round 
him flits! 
I read it in his eyes. 

And when his pencil's skill 
Has sometimes wrought a touch of 
happy art, 
I see his face with sudden gladness fill; 
I see him turn with eager lips apart, 
To bid me come and welcome his success; 
And then he droops and throws his 
brush aside; 
Oh, if my darling then could only guess 
That she is near who died ! 

Sometimes I fancy, too, 
That he does dimly know it — that he 
feels 
Some influence of love pass thrilling 
through 
Death's prison bars, the spirit's bonds 
and seals; 
Some dear companionship around him 
still; 
Some whispered blessing, faintly 
breathed caress, 
The pressure of a love no death can kill 
Brightening his loneliness. 




Ah, but[it cannot be! 
The dead are with the living — lam 
here: 
But he, my living love, he cannot see 
His dead wife, though she cling to him 
so near. 
I seek his eyes; I press against his cheek; 
I hear him breathe my name^ in wait- 
ing tone — 
He calls me, calls his wife; t cannot 
speak — 
He thinks he is alone. 

This is the bitterness of death; 
To kuow he loves me, pines and yearns 
for me; 
To see him, still be near him, feel his 
breath 
Fan my sad cheek, and yet I am not 
free 
To bid him feel, by any faintest touch, 
That she, who never left his side in 
life — 
She, who so loved him, whom he loved so 
much — 
Is with him still, — his wife. 



THE MOON'S LIGHT. 

Thus, Mary, be but all my own — 
While brighter eyes unheeded play, 

I '11 love those moonlight looks alone, 
That bless my home and guide my way 

And thus I thought our fortunes run, 
For many a lover looks to thee, 

While oh ! I feel there is but one, 
One Mary in the world for me. 



0! LET US NO LONGER. 

0! let us no longer, then, vainly lament 

Over scenes that are faded and days that 
are spent: 

But, by faith unf orsaken, unawed by mis- 
chance, 

On hope's waving banner still fixed be 
our glance; 

And, should fortune prove cruel and false 
to the last, 

Let us look to the future, and not to the 
past! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE. 

Oh! what was love made for if 'tis not 

the same 
Thro' joy and thro 1 torment, thro 1 glory 

and shame? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that 

heart, 
But I know that I love thee, whatever 

thou art. 

Thou hast called me thy angel in mo- 
ments of bliss, 

And thy angel I '11 he 'mid the horrors of 
this, — 

Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps 
to pursue, 

And shield thee, and save thee, or perish 
there too. 



MAUD. 



Before the high altar young Maud stands 

arrayed, 
With accents that falter, her promise is 

made — 
From father and mother forever to part, 
For him and no other to treasure her 

heart. 



HAUNTED. 



This is the time of her coming: seest 
thou not a phantom 
Fair as a folded lily, walking in Wil- 
loughby lane? 
The spirit-presence of Vannie, my well 
beloved, returning 
From the invisible country, to solace 
her lover again. 

Many a time when the moonlight, steal- 
ing in at the lattice, 
Falls like a web of silver over curtain 
and wall, 
Restless and ill at ease, I open my win- 
dow and watch her 
Walking amid the shadows, the palest 
shadow of all. 



So we walked in the starlight, Vannie 
and I together 
Years ago, when the roses bloomed in 
Willoughby lane. 
Ah ! but the buds were sweet, and ah ! 
but my love was sweeter, 
Pure and sweet as a flower filled to the 
brim with rain. 



Now my darling is sleeping under the 
tangled grasses, 
Far away from her lover, far from 
Willoughby lane; 
But when the dews are shining o 
slumbering blossoms, 
Among the wavering shadows I see my 
Vannie again. 

Through the casement I watch her, fair 
as a star and peerless, 
Watch her with wild unrest and a sob 
of infinite pain; 
Reaching into the moonlight with pas- 
sionate vain entreaty, 
Longing to clasp the maiden that walks 
in Willoughby lane. 



THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. 

There is not in all this wide world a val- 
ley so sweet 

As that vale in whose bosom the bright 
waters meet.* 

Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must 
depart, 

Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade 
from my heart.] 



Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er 

the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of 

green ; 
'T was not her soft magic of streamlet or 

hill, 
Oh ! no, — it was something more exquisite 

still. 



*"The Meeting of the Waters" of the rivers Avon and 
Avoca. 



Sai 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




COME SEND AROUND THE WINE. 

Come send around the wine, and leave 
points of belief 
To simpleton sages and reasoning fools; 
This moment's a flower too fair and too 
brief, 
To be withered and stain'd by the dust 
of the school. * 
Your glass may be purple and mine may 
be blue, 
But while they are filled from the same 
bright bowl, 
The fool who would quarrel for difference 
of hue, 
Deserves not the comfort they shed 
o'er the soul. 

Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights 
by my side 
In the cause of mankind, if our creeds 
agree ? 
Shall I give up the friend I have valued 
and tried, 
If he kneel not before the same altar 
with me? 
From the heretic girl of my soul should I 

To seek somewhere else a more ortho- 
dox kiss? 
No! perish the hearts and the laws that 
try 

Truth, valor and love, by a standard 
like this. 




THE UNWRITTEN BOOK. 

Take back the virgin page, 
White and unwritten still; 

Some hand more calm and sage, 
The page must fill. 

Yet let me keep the book; 

Oft shall my heart renew, 
When on its leaves I look, 

Dear thoughts of you! 

Like you, 't is fair and bright; 

Like you, too bright and fair 
To let wild passion write 

One wrong wish there. 



BELIEVE ME. 

Believe me if all those endearing young 
charms, 
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet 
in my arms, 
Like fairy gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this mo- 
ment thou art, 
Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of 
my heart 
Would entwine itself verdantly still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine 
own, 
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, 
That the fervor and faith of a soul can 
be known, 
To which time will but make thee more 
dear; 
Oh ! the heart that has truly loved never 
forgets, 
But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sunflower turns on the sun when 
he sets, 
The same look which she turned when 
he rose. 



MEMORY. 



Long, long be my heart with such mem- 
ories fill'd! 

Like the vase in which roses has once been 
distill'd — 

You may break, you may ruin the vase if 
you will, 

But the scent of the roses will hang 
round it still. 

Farewell! — bnt whenever you welcome 
the hour, 

That awakens the night-song of mirth in 
your bower, 

Then think of the friend who once wel- 
comed it too, 

And forgot his own griefs to be happy 
with you. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHARITY AND THANKS. 

A weary traveller, footsore, sad and ill, 
Sat on a door-step, when a good man 
said : 
"Friend, thou art faint and weary; eat 
thy fill; 
I bring thee meat and bread." 

The stranger ate, then said: "Alone and 
sad, 
I thought this world had nothing good 
for me; 
Kind words and food have made an old 
heart glad, 
And I give thanks to thee." 



ASK THE LAD. 

Is life worth living? Ask the lad 
Barefooted, homeless, starved, ill-clad, 
And this the answer you will get, 
My dog and me has fun — you bet. 



AN EVASIVE ANSWER. 

I went to see my love one night, 

A shy and blushing maid; 
And 'neath the moon's translucent light, 

One blissful hour we strayed. 

Then near the gate, on a rustic seat, 
An hour or more we talked; 

And though I longed to call her "sweet," 
My efforts all she balked! 

She, flushing, spoke about the — weather, 
Each time I neared the point; 

And sadly I did wonder whether 
The times were out of joint. 

But when an hour more had passed, 
Resolved to know my fate, 

Her little hand I boldly grasped, 
And to her whispered straight; 

"Will you be mine? I love you, dear, 

Beyond all things below!" 
Said she: "It 's getting late, I fear — 

Perhaps — you'd better go!" 




A HALO. 

She is long and lank in figure: 

She is sharp and plain in face: 
She cannot boast a beauty, 

And she cannot show a grace. 
I am young, and fair, and pretty; 

I can see it for myself; 
But she reigus a belle unquestioned, 

While I 'm laid upon the shelf. 

Ah, a halo shines about her 

That no beauty can eclipse! 
It gives light to eye and tresses: 

It gives bloom to cheek and lips, 
'T is a radiance far, far brighter, 

Than by heaven's sunshine sent, 
For she's worth a hundred thousand, 

And I am not worth a cent. 



EDDIE'S EPITAPH. 

Our Eddie's gone to join the band; 

The ague sadly shook him: 
The measles pestered him to death, 

And then, the mumps they took him. 



REJECTED LOVE. 

We stood alone by the river's side — 

We stood alone, us two; 
I fondly hoped she 'd be my bride, 

As I whispered, "I love you!" 

The river breezes softly fanned 
My flushed and burning brow, 

And the delicate touch of her quivering 
hand — 
I almost feel it now. 

She neither moved nor said a word 

To break the waking dream; 
I stood in silence most absurd; 

She gazed upon the stream. 

At last she spoke: I watched her eyes — 

Her eyes of brilliant blue — 
That burned bright with a humorous 
light, 

As she spake, " I do 'nt love you, 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



ABSENCE. 

Oh, couldst thou know 
With what a dull devotedness of woe 
I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er again! 
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought 

grew pain, 
And memory, like a drop, that night and 

day 
Fell cold and ceaseless, wore my heart 

away! 



A REMEMBRANCE. 

I see thee still, thou art not dead, 

Though dust is mingling with thy 
form; 
The broken sunbeam hath not shed 

The final rainbow on the storm: 
In visions of the midnight deep, 

Thine accents through my bosom 
thrill, 
Till joy's fond impulse bids me weep, — 

For, rapt in thought, I see thee still ! 

Fsee thee still, — that cheek of rose, — 

Those lips, with dewy fragrance wet, 
That forehead in serene repose, — 

Those soul-lit eyes — I see them yet! 
Sweet seraph! sure thou art not dead, — 

Thou gracest still this earthly sphere, 
An influence still is round me shed 

Like thine, — and yet thou art not here ! 



may 



Farewell, beloved! to mortal sight, 

Thy vermeil cheek no more 
bloom ; 
No more thy smiles inspire delight, 

For thou art garnered in the tomb. 
Rich harvest for that ruthless power 

Which hath no bound to mar his will; 
Yet, as in hope's unclouded hour, 

Throned in my heart, I see thee still. 



WE MUST NOT PART AS OTHERS 
DO. 

We must not part as others do, 
With sighs and tears, as we are two; 
Yet if with outward forms we part, 
11 keep each other in our heart. 




DEAR SON, COME HOME. 

Come home, 
Come to the hearts that love thee, to the 
eyes 
That beam in brightness but to glad- 
den thine; 
Come where fond thoughts like holiest 
incense rise, 
Where cherish'd memory rears her 
altar's shrine. 

Dear son, come home. 

Come home, 
Come to the hearth-stone of thy earlier 
days; 
Come to the ark, like the o'erwearied 
dove, 
Come with the sunlight of thy heart's 
warm rays, 
Come to the fireside circle of thy love. 
Dear son, come home. 

Come home, 
It is not home without thee; the lone 
seat 
Is still unclaimed where thou wert 
wont to be; 
In every echo of returning feet 

In vain we list for what should herald 
thee. 

Dear son, come home. 



I BLESS THEE, WIFE. 

I bless thee for the noble heart, 

The tender and the true, 
Where mine hath found the happiest rest 

That e'er fond woman's knew; 
I bless thee, faithful friend and guide, 

For my own, my treasured share 
In the mournful secrets of thy soul, 

In thy sorrow, in thy prayer. 

I bless thee for kind looks and words, 

Showered on my path like dew, 
For all the love in those deep eyes, 

A gladness ever new! 
For the voice which ne'er to mine replied 

But in kindly tones of cheer; 
For every spring of happiness 

My soul hath tasted here. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



367 



TRUE AND KIND. 

There 's a little cottage across the glade, 
With a bit of lawn and an apple tree, 
A rose at the door, and a garden laid 

In ordered beauty — and all for me! 
Ah, work is weary! but evermore 

Thro' day or darkness, thro' rain or 
sun, 
To the low, white cot with the rose- 
wreathed door, 
And tiny garden, my glad thoughts 
run. 
A poor little shelter — I shall not mind, 
If Ralph, the builder, is true and kind. 



NECESSITY HAS NO LAW. 

Parson — How could you come to the 
church to be married to a man in such a 
state as that? 

Bride (weeping) — It was not my fault, 
sir. I never could get him to come when 
he was sober. 



HUSBAND AND WIFE. 

It 's the strangest thing that ever I knew, 
And the most provoking, 'twixt me and 

you, 
And a woman who 's got a man like me, 
A good provider, and steady and free 
With all her folks, with funds salted 

down, 
And as fine a house as any in town, 
To be lamenting 'cause one child in ten 
Aint quite as good as he might have been. 

It 's a pretty good showing, it seems to 

me, 
That only a tenth of the lot should be 
A little off color, and that 's what I say 
To their mother twenty times a day. 
But I can't make her see it in that light, 
And she listens and waits night after 

night, 
For the sound of his step, till I grow so 

wild 
That I almost blame both mother and 

child. 




She ought to live for the others you 

know, 
And let the tormenting vagabond go 
And follow his ways and take the pain; 
But I turn him out and she calls him 

again. 
This makes a hardness between her and 

me, 
And the worst of it is, the children agree 
That I 'm in the right. You '11 pity her 

then; 
Such times I think I 'm the meanest of 

men. 

I 've argued and scolded, and coaxed with- 
out end, 

Her answer is always: "My boy has one 
friend 

As long as I live, and your charge is un- 
true 

That my heart holds no equal love for 
you 

And all the rest. But the one goes astray 

Needs me the most, and you'll find 'tis 
the way 

Of all mothers to hold close to the one 

Who hurts her the most. So love's work 
is done." 

Now, what can I say to such words as 

those? 
I'm not convinced, as the history shows; 
But I often wonder which one is right, 
As I hear her light step night after night, 
Here and there, to the window and door, 
As she waits with a heart that is heavy 

and sore. 
I wish the boy dead, while she gives her 

life 
To save him from sin. There 's husband 

and wife. 



REMEMBER ME. 

Other arms may press thee 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee, 

Sweeter far may be; 
But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 

Oh! then remember me. 




% 



368 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






MY WIFE AND I. 

"I'll tell you what the secret is," 
Thus said an aged man to me: 

"We have been married many years, 
Happy, as years are wont to be; 

We 've done our best to make life's path 
A smooth one, as the days went by, 

And we have had our share of joy — 
My wife and I. 

" Trouble and pain have come to us — 
The sky sometimes will not be fair — 

Our hearts have felt the heavy weight 
Of chastening sorrow and of care. 

In those dark hours we bore our cross 
As if we knew relief was nigh, 

And with kind words each other cheered: 
My wife and I. 

'.' Fortune was not our early lot, 
We owned no house nor fertile lands; 

Our treasure was confiding hearts, 
And purpose plain, and willing hands. 

Our plans were laid in mutual faith, 
They ripened as the years went by, 

And we ne'er faltered in our trust — 
My wife and I. 

" They ripened like the precious grain 
The farmer places in the ground, 

And we the harvest gathered in, 
And ample store of comfort found; 

So that, ere age had touched our hair 
And whitened it, and dimmed the eye, 

We owned our house and fertile lands — 
My wife and I. 

"And this the simple secret is: 

We've always been to purpose true; 

We 've ever kept our well-formed plans — 
One mutual design — in view; 

And we have never broken trust, 
But faithful been as time went by, 

And won sweet blessings and content — 
My wife and I." 




THEY SIN. 
They sin who say that love can ever 



WHY TURN AWAY. 

Why turn away when I draw near? 
Why cold to-day? once 1 was dear; 
Then thy heart stirred and flushed thy 

brow; 
Never a word comes to me now. 



A BRAVE REPLY. 

In 1586, Philip II., of Spain, sent the 
young Count DeCastile to Rome to con- 
gratulate Sixtus V. on his advancement 
to the chair of Supreme Pontiff. Seeing 
so young a man with a face almost like 
a girl's, the Pope very imprudently let 
fall: "How is it, Signor? Are there so 
few men in Spain that your king sends to 
me an ambassador without a beard ? " 
The Spaniard drew himself proudly up, 
and, with flashing eyes, made reply: 
"Your eminence, had his majesty been 
able to imagine that you held the merit 
of manhood to lie in a beard, he would 
doubtless have sent you a mountain goat, 
and not a gentleman." 



AFTERWARD. 

I heedlessly opened the cage 

And suffered my bird to go free; 
And, though I besought it with tears to 
return, 
It nevermore came back to me. 
It rests in the wildwood, and heeds not 

my call. 
0, the bird once at liberty, who can en- 
thrall? 

I hastily opened my lips, 

And uttered a word of disdain 
That wounded a friend, and forever es- 
tranged 
A heart I would die to regain. 
But the bird once at liberty, who can en- 
thrall? 
And the word that 's once spoken, 0, who 
can recall? 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHY WOMAN BLUSHES. 



When man, in loneliness reposing, 

Awoke from that mysterious nap; 
And saw with wond'rous ease reclining 

His gentle Eve in Eden's lap; 
In eager haste to greet the fair, 

And all his heart's warm wishes speak; 
He crushed a rose upon her cheek, 

That left its tint forever there. 



IT 'S NAUGHTY BUT IT 'S NICE. 

There 's lots of things you know, 
Wherever you may go, 

That we should never undertake to do; 
Although it charms the eye, 
We ought to pass it by, 

It would be better if we only knew. 
My mother used to say unto me every 
day, 
When you see a pie do n't always want 
a slice, 
I used to go up stairs and take it una- 
wares, 
All the time I knew 't was naughty, 
but 't was nice. 

We go to see our girls, 
With lots of pretty curls, 

To pass the time so pleasantly away, 
We praise the little dears, 
And drive away their fears, 

And such lots of sweet nonsense to 
them we say. 
And when it 's late at night, 
The stars are shining bright, 

To kiss them, why it gives to life a 
spice ; 
Our arms around their waists, delight- 
fully are placed, 
All the while we know it 's naughty, 
but it 's nice. 



POSY. 



He called her Posy with an amorous art, 
And graved it on a gem, and wore it next 
his heart 
24 






UP HILL. 

It has been up hill all our days, 

But aye when cold care neared me 
My Jennie with her winsome ways 
Stood by my side and cheered me. 



FAWNING. 



Those who fawn and flatter, and feed at 

your cost, 
Will never come near when your fortune 

is lost. 



MOTHER — CONTENT. 

I left thee once in mad desire to find 
The love for which my spirit yearned 

with pain, 
At many a door I knocked and knocked 
in vain, 
Craving love's alms, which none to grant 
inclined, 
But laughing, treated me with cold 
disdain; 
Yet still I wandered, eager in the quest, 
Forever seeking, and for age unblest, 
Since no one gave the boon for which I 
pined. 

Then mother! turning to my home I 
went 
With weary steps and sorrow, numb- 
ing care, 
And lo! my pain was lost in sweet con- 
tent, 
For what I sought came to me un- 
aware ; 
Jn the dear eyes that on thy son were 
bent 
All I had asked I found, for love was 
there. 



MY LOVER. 



Sweet were his words when last we met; 

My passion I as freely told him ; 
Clasped in his arms I little thought 

That I should never more behold him 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




PLUCK. 

Is there a race to run? 

Then show your pluck and readiness: 
And let it be begun 

With courage and with steadiness: 
For if by fear or folly bound, 
You '11 never reach the vantage ground. 

Is there a fight to win? 

Then let the charge be glorious! 
And enter boldly in, 

Or lose the crown victorious. 
For luck is captain of the band, 
And pluck the general in command. 

Is there a tide to cross ? 

Then all your vigor rallying, 
With valor speed your course, 

And do n't stand dilly-dallying; 
For if upon the shore you bide 
You '11 never reach the other side. 



MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT. 

Meet me by moonlight alone, 

And then I will tell you a tale, 
Must be told by the moonlight alone, 

In the grove at the end of the vale. 
You must promise to come, for I said 

I would show the night flowers their 
queen, 
Nay, turn not away your sweet head, 

'T is the loveliest ever was seen. 

Daylight may do for the gay, 

The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, 
But there's something about the moon's 
ray, 

That is sweeter to you and to me. 
0! remember be sure to be there, 

For though dearly a moonlight I prize, 
I care not for all in the air, 

If I want the sweet light of your eyes. 



SLANDER, 




The man that dares traduce because he 

can 
With safety to himself, is not a man. 



NAY, IF YOU READ THIS LINE. 

Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that wrote it, for I love you 
so, 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be 
forgot, 
If thinking on me then should make 
you woe. 



WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE. 

When he who adores thee has left but 
the name 
Of his fault and his sorrows behind, 
Oh! say wilt thou weep wheu they darken 
the fame 
Of a life that for thee was resigned ? 
Yes weep, and heaven my foes may con- 
demn, 
Thy tears shall efface their decree; 
For Heaven can witness though guilty to 
them, 
I have been but too faithful to thee. 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest 
love; 
Every thought of my reason was thine; 
In my last humble prayer to the spirit 
above, 
Thy name shall be mingled with mine! 
0, blest are the lovers and friends who 
shall live 
The days of thy glory to see; 
But the next dearest blessing that heaven 
can give, 
Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 



LOVELY MARY DONNELY. 

lovely Mary Donnely, it 's you I love 

the best! 
If fifty girls were 'round you I'd hardly 

see the rest; 
Be what it may the time of day, the place 

be where it will, 
Sweet looks of Mary Donnely, they bloom 

before me still. 

%0 



^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE BEST WIVES. 

Daughters intelligent, 

Gentle and dutiful, 
Make the best wives, 

And. the most beautiful. 

Time from the maiden's cheek 
Youth's rose will sever, 

But the mind's excellence, 
Lasteth forever. 



SEDUCTION. 



By heaven, I would rather forever for- 
swear 
The elysium that dwells in a beautiful 
breast, 
Then alarm for a moment the peace that 
is there, 
Or banish the dove from so hallowed a 
nest. 



KISSES. 



I strove to make a desert of thy mouth, 
To gather all its treasure in an hour; 
But laughing Love forbade the cruel 
drouth, 
And kisses fathered kisses, as a flower, 
Half thirsty when the summer shower is 
done, 
Sighs faintly in expanding; so thy lips 
Grew sighing up to mine. And as the 
sun 
With ardent ray the jeweled nectar 
sips, 
So drank I of their beauty, till my soul, 
Quickened with glad desire, as buds in 
May, 
Burst into bloom. And we together 
stole 
The conscience from the hours till all 
the day 
Was one long kiss; and the dark jealous 

night, 
Prophetic of another day's delight. 



hcP 



MY LADY FRIEND. 

I prize thy rich affections more than 

Afric's golden sands, 
And all the wealth the sea hath borne 

from India's teeming lands, 
The music that at evening floats across 

the summer sea, 
Is not as sweet as one soft word thy lips 

have breathed to me. 

I know no witchery like the spell thy 
smile around me throws, 

And in thy blushing cheek there dwells 
the rival of the rose, 

But oh! the gem that lies beneath, per- 
fecting every grace, 

Is thy pure heart! the jewel, love, is 

worthy of its case. 

t 



THE SWEETEST GIRL IN TOWN. 

I know a little maiden, the sweetest one 

in town, 
She has no golden ringlets nor glossy 

curls of brown; 
Her eyes are not like blue-bells, nor lily 

white her skin, 
And no bewitching dimples peep out 

from cheek or chin. 

But she has smiles in plenty for dark days 

and for bright, 
For winter and for summer, for morning, 

noon and night, 
Ah ! on her freckled forehead I never saw 

a frown, 
And that is why I call her the sweetest 

girl in town. 



WHEN NATURE WEEPS. 

It is said that nature shudders 
When a woman throws a stone, 

And that when she sharpens pencils 
Then all nature gives a groan. 

But there 's nothing that gives nature 
More keen anguish and distress, 

Than to see a struggling father 
With a babe he tries to dress. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




OH! 'TIS SWEET TO THINK. 

Oh ! 't is sweet to think that wherever we 
rove, 
We are sure to find something blissful 
and dear, 
And that, when we're far from the lips 
that we love, i 

We Ve but to make love to the lips that 
are near. 



LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 

A work of friendship's pleasing power, 

In these few lines you see, 
And sometime in a lonely hour 

Read them and think of me. 

May no dark cloud over thee spread, 
May brilliant prospects rise, 

May Heaven its blessings on thee shed, 
Sweet incense from the skies. 



A WOODLAND TRAGEDY. 

A traveler, fleeing from a forest fire, 
Sought refuge in a cooling stream near 

*>y, 

From whence he watched the conflagra- 
tion dire; 
Great trees, like giant torches lit the 
sky 

With ruddy flame, and 'mid them in the 
wood, 

Wreathed by a withered vine, a dead 
pine stood. 

The traveler hearing plaintive notes of 
woe, 
Gazed upward and behind, high in the 
air, 

A fish-hawk circling: her dear brood be- 
low 
Was menaced and, despite her utmost 
care, 

Must. perish if a red spark touched the 
crest 

Of the tall tree where she had made her 
nest. 



Soon cruel tapers turned the twining 

vine 
Into a glowing ribbon to the peak 
Of the majestic and enkindling pine, 
And the affrighted fish-hawk with her 

beak 
Drew burning sticks from the imperiled 

nest, 
Then covered her weak fledglings with 

her breast. 

And 'mid the conflagration's fiery stings, 
He who was gaping from the crystal 
wave 
Saw that she lifted not her sheltering 
wings, 
But died for love — a martyr true and 
brave, 
A soulless martyr, by sore love distressed, 
Till death had not a terror for her breast. 

No knowledge had she of a shining 
crown, 
And instinct taught her she must die 
with those 

She hid beneath her bosom's rusty down, 
Yet stilly, as if for a night's repose, 

She chose with the sweet boon of life to 
part, 

With her beloved ones 'neath her burn- 
ing heart! 

After the fire had spent its mighty 
strength, 
And black and level was the woody 
place, 
The traveler journeyed on, and met at 
length 
Women and men of bis most splendid 
race 
Fairest and best; full many a tale of 
bliss 
And grief he heard, but never one like 
this. 



LUCY. 




Lucy is a golden girl, 

Toast her in a goblet brimming; 
May the man that wins her wear 

On his heart the Rose of Women! 




A 1500K OF POEMS 




SUSPENSE. 

Suspense, dear lady, well I cannot bear, 

I love thee truly and I tell thee so, 
Thou art more cruel e'en than thou art 
fair, 
And neither keep'st me nor wilt let me 
g°- 

This is not generous, lady ; unto thee 

The story of my passionate love I gave, 
Freely and fondly, but thy thoughts to 
me 
Are shut and sealed as secrets in the 
grave. 

Tell me thou lovest me, or thou dost not, 
That I may nurse the flame or quench 
its light; 
To me there is on earth but one bright 
spot, 
'T is where thou art — shall that spot 
fade in night? 



NOBLE NATURE. 

In small proportions we just beauties see, 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 



WOMAN'S WILL. 

Men, dying, make their wills — but wives 

Escape a work so sad. 
Why should they make what all their 
lives 

The gentle dames have had. 



THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN. 

The milk we drink is not more pure, 
Sweet Mary, — bless those budding 
charms! — 

Than your own generous heart, I'm sure, 
Nor whiter than the breast it warms. 

Not for a crown would I alarm 
Your virgin pride by word or sign, 

Nor need a painful blush disarm 

My friends of thoughts as pure as mine. 



■L 



WOMAN, 

woman! whose form and whose soul 
Are the spell and the light of each path 
we pursue: 
Whether sunn'd in the tropics or chilled 
at the pole, 
If woman be there, there is happiness 
too. 



BEAUTIFUL KATE. 

My eyes! how I love you, 
You sweet little dove, you! 
There 's no one above you, 
Most beautiful Kitty. 

So glossy your hair is, 
Like a sylph's or a fairy's; 
And your neck, I declare, is 
Exquisitely pretty. 

Quite Grecian your nose is, 
And your cheeks are like roses, 
So delicious — Moses! 
Surpassingly sweet! 

Not the beauty of tulips, 
Nor the taste of mint-juleps, 
Can compare with your two lips, 
Most beautiful Kate. 

Not the black eyes of Juno, 
Nor Minerva's of blue, no, 
Nor Venus's, you know, 
Can ecpual your own ! 

0, how my heart prances, 
And frolics and dances, 
When their radiant glances 
Upon me are thrown! 

And now, dearest Kitty, 
It 's not very pretty, 
Indeed, it 's a pity 

To keep me in sorrow! 

So, if you '11 but chime in, 
We '11 have done with rhymin' 
Swap Cupid for Hymen, 

And be married to-morrow. 





374 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




I ONLY LOVED HIM. 

I only loved him, — any woman would: 
But shut my love up till he came and 

sued, 
Then poured it o'er his dry life like a flood. 

I was so happy I could make him hlest! — 
So happy that I was his first and best, 
As he mine, — when he took me to his 
breast. 

Ah me! if only then he had been true! 
If for one little year, a month or two, 
He had given me love for love, as was my 
due! 



THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

For aught that ever I could read, 

Could ever hear by tale or history, 

The course of true love never did run 

smooth: 
But, either it was different in blood, 
Or else misgraft respect of years; 
Or else it stood upon the cboice of friends; 
Or if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death ur sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night, 
That in a spleen, unfolds both heaven 

and earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say, — 

behold! 
The jaws of darkness do devour it up: 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 



WOMAN. 



Woman, man's greatest woe or bliss, 
Does oftener far than serve, enslave, 

And with the magic of a kiss 

Destroys whom she was made to save. 

0, fruitful grief, the world's disease! 

And vainer man to make it so, 
Who gives his miseries increase 

By cultivating his own woe. 




FIRST TIME. 

First time he kissed me, he but only 

kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I 

write; 
And ever since it grew more clean and 

white. 



LITTLE BELL. 

Piped the blackbird on the beachwood 

spray, 
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, 

What's your name?" quoth he, — 
"What's your name? stop and straight 

unfold, 
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold." 
" Little Bell," said she. 

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks, 
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks, 

" Bonny bird," quoth she, 
"Sing me your best song before I go." 
" Here 's the very finest song I know, 

Little Bell," said he. 

And the blackbird piped; you never heard 
Half so gay a song from any bird, — 

Full of quips and wiles. 
Now so round and rich, now soft and 

slow, 
All for love of that sweet face below, 

Dimpled o'er with smiles. 



LEILA. 



Then, 0, how good, how beautiful must be 
The God that made so good a thing as 
thee. 



SENSIBILITY. 

Oh! life is a waste of wearisome hours, 
Which seldom the rose of enjoyment 
adorns; 
And the heart that is soonest awake to 
the flowers, 
Is always the first to be touched by the 
thorns. 




19 s - 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




WHAT I WANT. 

I want (who doesn't want) a wife, — 

Affectionate and fair; 
To solace all the woes of life, 

And all its joys to share. 
Of temper sweet, of yielding will, 

Of firm yet placid mind, — 
With all my faults to love me still 

With sentiment refined. 

And as time's car incessant runs, 

And fortune fills my store, 
I want of daughters and of sons 

From eight to half a score. 
I want (alas! can mortal dare 

Such bliss on earth to crave?) 
That all the girls be chaste and fair,— 

The boys all wise and brave. 



TO MY SON ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

It is thy natal day, my darling son — 
And, oh, I greet it with a prayer and 
tear! 
'Twill be to me, while mortal life shall 
run, 
The dearest day of all the circling year. 

I've wandered forth in morning's twi- 
light dim, 
To muse in solitude on all thou art, 
And every thought and feeling seems a 
hymn — 
A strain of holiest music in my heart. 

How lovely is the morn — thy morn! the 
air 
To me is full of scents of Eden's flow- 
ers; 
How strangely blue the sky! the earth, 
how fair! 
How full of beauty all the woodland 
bowers ! 

Alas, my years of life have not been few! 

I 've felt the sunshine, and the storm 

have dared, 

But ne'er knew joys so beautiful and true 

As oftentimes my soul with thine has 

shared. 



Thou seem'st the joint heir of a star and 
flower, 
Sweet as the one, and as the other 
bright, 
Half earth, half heaven, with all an an- 
gel's power 
To fill my soul with music and delight. 

To me the world to-day is full of thee; 
Where'er I chance to turn my joyous 
eyes 
Thy image stands, calm, proud and beau- 
tiful, 
As if 't were painted on the earth and 
skies. 

I sleep, — that image stands before my 

face; 

I wake, — it lingers on the self-same 

spot; 

It will not leave me in my earthly race — 

I thank God earnestly that it will not! 

Yes, 'tis thy birthday, and to me it seems 
The birthday of a thousand hopes and 
fears; 
I '11 give the hopes to love's delicious 
dreams, 
The fears to love's dark musings and 
to tears. 




WHOM SHOULD I MARRY? ECHO 

ANSWERS. 

Whom should I marry? — should it be 
A dashing damsel, gay and pert, 

A pattern of inconstancy; 
Or selfish, mercenary flirt? 
Quoth Echo, sharply, "Nary flirt!" 

But if some maiden with a heart, 
On me should venture to bestow it, 

Pray should I act the wiser part 
To take the treasure, or forego it? 
Quoth Echo, with decision, — "Go it!" 

But if some maid with beauty blest, 
As pure and fair as heaven can make 
her, 

Will share my labor and my rest 

Till envious death shall overtake her? 
Quoth Echo ( sotto voce ) — " Take her !' 




376 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




BLINDNESS. 

The husband, sometimes, must not see, 
And blind the wife should often be. 



NEIGHBOR JONES. 

I 'm thinking, wife, of neighbor Jones, 
the man with the stalwart arm — 

He lives in peace and plenty on a forty- 
acre farm; 

When men are all around us with hearts 
and hands a- sore, 

Who own two hundred acres, and still 
are wantiug more. 

He has a pretty little farm, a pretty little 

house; 
He has a loving wife within, as quiet as a 

mouse; 
His children play around the door, their 

father's heart to charm, 
Looking just as neat and tidy as the tidy 

little farm. 

No weeds are in the cornfield, no thistles 

in the oats; 
The t horses show good keeping by their 

fine and glossy coats; 
The cows within the meadow, resting 

'neath the beechen shade, 
Learn all their gentle manners from a 

gentle milking-maid. 

Within the field on Saturday he leaves no 

cradled grain, 
To be gathered on the morrow for fear 

of coming rain; 
He lives in joy and gladness, and happy 

are his days, 
He keeps the Sabbath holy; his children 

learn his ways. 

He never had a law-suit to take him to 

the town, 
For the very simple reason there are no 
fences down; 
I The bar-room in the village for him has 

not a charm, 
I I can always find my neighbor on his 
forty-acre farm. 




His acres are so few that he ploughs them 
very deep; 

'Tis his own hands that turn the sod, 'tis 
his own hands that reap; 

He has a place for everything, and every- 
thing in its place; 

The sunshine smiles upon his fields, con- 
tentment on his face. 

May we not learn a lesson, wife, from 

prudent neighbor Jones, 
And not sigh for what we have n't got — 

give vent to sighs and groans? 
The rich arn't always happy, nor free 

from life's alarms, 
But blest- are those who live content, 

though small may be their farms. 



A KISS. 



A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound: 
The spot where love's sweet links were 
wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallowed down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven! 

For time makes all but true love old; 
The burning thoughts that then were 

told, 
Run molten still in memory's mould, 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 



TRUTH. 



A moral, sensible and well-bred man 
Will not affront me, and no other can. 



BORROWING TROUBLE. 

Some of your hurts you have cured, 
And the sharpest you still have sur 
vived, 

But what torments of grief you endured 
From evils which never arrived. 





A JJOOK OF POEMS 



377 ° 



WHAT MY LOVER SAID. 

By the merest chance, in the twilight 
gloom, 
In the orchard path he met me — 
In the tall, wet grass, with its faint per- 
fume — 
And I tried to pass, but he made no 
room ; 
Oh, I tried, but he would not let me. 
So I stood and blushed till the grass grew 
red, 
With my face bent down above it, 
While he took my band, as he whispering 

said — 
How the clover lifted its pink, sweet 

head, 
To listen to all that my lover said! 
Oh, the clover in bloom, I love it! 

In the high, wet grass went the path to 
hide, 
And the low, wet leaves hung over, 
But I could not pass on either side, 
For I found myself, when I vainly tried, 

In the arms of my steadfast lover; 
And he held me there, and he raised my 
head, 
While he closed tbe path before me; 
And he looked down into my eyes and 

said — 
How the leaves bent down from the 

boughs o'erhead 
To listen to all my lover said! 

Oh, the leaves hanging lowly o'er me! 

I am sure that he knew when he held me 
fast, 
That I must be all unwilling, 
For I tried to go, and I would have 

passed, 
As the night was come with its dews at 
last, 
And the sky with its stars was filling. 
But he clasped me close when I would 
have fled, 
And he made me hear his story; 
And his soul came out from his lips and 

said — 
How the stars crept put when the white 

moon fled, 
To listen to all my lover said! 

Oh, the moon and the stars in glory! 




I know that the grass and the leaves will 
not tell, 
And I 'm sure that the wind, precious 
rover, 
Will carry his secret so safely and well, 

That no being shall ever discover 
One word of the many that rapidly fell 

From the eager lips of my lover. 
And the moon and the stars that looked 

over, 
Shall never reveal what a fairy-like spell 
They wove round about us that night in 
the dell, 
On the path through the dew-laden 
clover; 
Nor the whispers that made my heart to 
swell 
As they fell from the lips of my lover! 



REPUTATION. 

Good name in man and woman, dear, my 

lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis 

something, nothing: 
'T was mine, 'tis his, and has been slave 

to thousands; 
But he that filches from me my good 

name * 

Robs me of that which not enriches him, 

And makes me poor indeed. 



HOW DEAR TO ME. 

How dear to me the hour when daylight 
dies, 
And sunbeams melt along the silent 
sea, 
For then sweet dreams of other days arise, 
And memory breathes her vesper sigh 
to thee. 



THE BRIDEGROOM. 

Without his knowledge he was won, — 
Against his nature kept devout; 

She '11 never tell him how 't was done, 
And he will never find it out. 




m> 



378 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




IF BITTER SCORN. 

If bitter scorn, and looks, once kind, 
grown strange, 
With crushing dullness fall, 
From secret wells let sweetness rise, nor 
change 
My heart to gall! 



SEPARATION. 

A wall was grown between the two — 
A strong, thick wall, though all unseen; 

None knew when the first stones were 
laid, 
Nor how the wall was built, I ween. 

And so the lives were wide apart, 

Although they shared one board, one 
bed; 

A careless eye saw naught amiss, 
Yet each was to the other dead. 

He, much absorbed in work and gain, 
Grew soon unmindful of his loss; 

A hard indifference, worse than hate, 
Changed love's pure gold to worthless 
dross. 

She suffered tortures all untold; 

Too proud to mourn, too strong to die; 
The wall pressed heavily on her heart; 

Her white face showed her misery. 

Such walls are growing day by day 
'Twixt man and wife, 'twixt friend and 
friend — 
Would they could know, who lightly 
build, 
How sad and bitter is the end. 

A careless word, an unkind thought, 
A slight neglect, a taunting tone — 

Such things as these, before we know, 
Have laid the wall's foundation stone. 



STREAMS. 



Stillest streams oft water fairest mead- 
ows, and the bird that flutters least is 
longest on the wing. 



I WAS THINKING. 

Meanwhile, I was thinking of my first 
■ love 
As I had not been thinking of aught 
for years; 
Till over my eyes there began to move 
Something that felt like tears. 

I thought of the dress that she wore last 
time, 
When we stood near the cypress trees 
together, 
In that lost land, in that soft clime, 
In the crimson evening weather; 

And the jasmine flower in her fair young 
breast; 
(0 the faint, sweet smell of that jas- 
mine flower!) 
And the one bird singing alone to his 
nest; 
And the one star over the tower. 

1 thought of our little quarrels and strife, 
And the letter that brought me back 
my ring; 
And it all seemed then in the waste of 
life, 
Such a very little thing! 

For I thought of her grave below the hill 

Which the sentinel cypress tree stands 

over; 

And I thought "Were she only living 

still, 

How I could forgive her and love her." 



THE GOOD GREAT MAN. 

How seldom, friend, a good great man 
inherits 
Honor and wealth, with all his worth 
and pains! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
When any man obtains that which he 
merits, 
Or any merits that which he obtains. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




GINERVA. 

If thou shouldst ever come by choice or 

chance 
To Modena, where still religiously 
Among her ancient trophies is preserved 
Bologna's bucket (in its chain it hangs 
Within that reverend tower, the Guir- 

landine) 
Stop at a palace near the Reggio gate, 
Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini. 
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, 
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses, 
Will long detain thee; through their 

arched walks, 
Dim at noonday, discovering many a 

glimpse 
Of knights and dames, such as in old 

romance, 
And lovers, such as in heroic song, 
Perhaps the two, for groves were their 

delight, 
That in the spring-time as alone they sat, 
Venturing together on a tale of love, 
Read only part that day. — A summer sun 
Sets e'er one half is seen ; but e'er thou go, 
Enter the house — prythee, forget it not, 
And look awhile upon a picture there. 
'T is of a lady in her earliest youth, 
The very last of that illustrious race, 
Done by Zampieri — but I care not 

whom. 
He who observes it ere he passes on 
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, 
That he may call it up when far away. 
She sits, inclining forward as to speak, 
Her lips half open, and her finger up, 
And tho' she said: " Beware! " Her vest of 



gold 



rom 




head to foot, 

An emory stone in every golden clasp; 

And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, 
a coronet of pearls. 

But then her face, so lovely, yet so arch, 
so full of mirth, 

The overflowings of an innocent heart. — 
It haunts me still, 

Tho' many a year has fled, like some wild 
melody! 

Alone it hangs over a mouldering heir- 
loom, its companion, 



An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm, 
But richly carved by Antony of Trent 
With scripture stories from the Life of 

Christ; 
A chest that came from Venice, and had 

held 
The ducal robes of some old ancestor. 
That, by the way, it may be true or false; 
But don't forget the picture; and thou 

wilt not 
When thou hast heard the tale they told 

me there. 
She was an only child; from infancy the 

joy, the pride 
Of an indulgent sire. Her mother, dying 

of the gift she gave, 
That precious gift, what else remained to 

him ? 
The young Ginerva was his all in life, 

still as she grew, 
Forever in his sight; and in her fifteenth 

year became a bride, 
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 
Her playmate from her birth, and her first 

love. 
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, 
She was all gentleness, all gaiety, 
Her pranks the favorite theme of every 

tongue. 
But now the day was come, the day, the 

hour; 
Now frowning, smiling, for the hunclreth 

time, 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preach'd 

decorum; 
And in the lustre of her youth, she gave 

her hand 
With her heart in it to Francesco. 
Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast 
We all sat down, the bride was wanting 

there. 
Nor was she to be found! Her father 

cried, 
" 'T is but to make a trial of our love! " 
And filled his glass to all; but his hand 

shook, 
And soon from guest to guest the panic 

spread. 
'T was but that instant she had left Fran- 
cesco, 
Laughing, and looking back, and flying 

still, 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. 
But now, alas! she was not to be found; 
Nor from that hour could anything be 

guessed, but that she was not! 
Weary of his life,. Francesco -flew to 

Venice, and forthwith 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
Orsini lived; and long might'st thou 

have seen 
An old man wandering as in quest of 

something, 
Something he could not find — he knew 

not what. 
When he was gone, the house remained 

a while, 
Silent and tenantless — then went to 

strangers. 
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot, 

when on an idle day, 
A day of search 'mid the old lumber in 

the gallery, 
That mouldering chest was noticed, and 

't was said 
By one as young, as thoughtless as Grin- 

erva: 
" Why not remove it from its lurking 

place?" 
'T was done as soon as said; but on 

the way 
It burst, it fell, and lo! a skeleton, with 

here and there a pearl, 
An emerald stone, a golden clasp, clasp- 
ing a shred of gold. 
All else had perished save a nuptial ring, 

and a small seal, 
Her mother's legacy engraven with a 

name, 
The name of both, Grinerva. 
There, then, had she found a grave! 
Within that chest had she concealed her- 
self, 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the 

happy; 
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush 

there, 
Fastened her down forever! 



ORATORY. 



And 'tis remarkable, that they 

most who have the least to say. 




MORAL COSMETICS. 

Ye who would have your features florid, 
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, un wrinkled fore- 
head, 
From age's devastation horrid, 

Adopt this plan, — 
'T will make, in climate cold or torrid, 

A hale old man. 

Avoid in youth luxurious diet, 
Restrain the passions' lawless riot; 
Devoted to domestic quiet, 

Be wisely gay; 
So shall ye, spite of age's fiat, 

Resist decay. 



THE HEART OF A LOVER. 

The heart of a lover is never at rest: 
With joy overwhelmed, or with sorrow 
oppressed. 



SUSAN AND I. 

We lodged in the same house a year ago; 
She on the topmost floor, I just below, — 
She a poor milliner, content and wise, 
I, a poor city clerk, with hopes to rise; 
And long ere we were friends I learnt to 

love 
The little angel on the floor above. 
For, every morn, ere from my bed I 

stirred. 
Her chamber door would open, and I 

heard, — 
And listened, blushing, to her coming 

down, 
And palpitated with her rustling gown, 
And tingled while her foot went down- 
ward slow, 
Creaked like a cricket, passed, and died 

below; 
Then peeping from the window, pleased 

and sly, 
1 saw the pretty shining face go by, 
Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber 

sweet, — 
A sunbeam in the quiet morning street 




Xj?^ 



w 



t> 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




LUST. 

Mad in pursuit and in possession so; 
Had, having, and in quest to have, ex- 
treme; 
A bliss in proof, — and proved, a very 
woe; 
Before, a joy proposed ; behind, a dream: 
All this the world well knows; yet none 

knows well 
To shun the heaven that leads men to 
this hell. 



LOVE LIGHTENS LABOR. 

A good wife rose from her bed one morn, 

And thought with a nervous dread 
Of the piles of clothes to be washed, and 
more 
Than a dozen mouths to.be fed. 
There 's the meals to get for the men in 
the field, 
And the children to fix away 
To school, and the milk to be skimmed 
and churned; 
And all to be done this day. 

It had rained in the night, and all the 
wood 
Was wet as it could be; 
There were pudding and pies to bake, be- 
sides 
A loaf of cake for tea. 
And the day was hot, and her aching 
head 
Throbbed wearily as she said, 
"If maidens but knew what good wives 
know, 
They would be in no haste to wed!" 

"Jennie, what do you think I told Ben 
Brown?" 

Called the farmer from the well; 
And a flush crept to his bronzed brow, 

And his eyes half bashfully fell; 
" It was this," he said, and coming near, 

He smiled, and stooping down, 
Kissed her cheek — U 'T was this, that 
you were the best 

And the dearest wife in town!" 




The farmer went back to the field, and 
the wife, 
In a smiling absent way, 
Sang snatches of tender little songs 

She'd not sung for many a day. 
And the pain in her head was gone, and 
the clothes 
Were white as the foam of the sea 
Her bread was light, and her butter was 
sweet, 
And as golden as it could be. 
"Just think," the children all called in a 
breath, 
" Tom Wood has run off to sea! 
He would n't I know, if he only had 

As happy a home as we." 
The night came down and the good wife 
smiled 
To herself, as she softly said: 
"'Tis so sweet tolabor'for those we love, 
It 's not strange that maids will wed! " 



I WILL MEET THEE. 

In that same place thou hast appointed 

me, 
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 



SEDUCTION. 



Is there in human form, that bears a 

heart — 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and 

truth! 

That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

. Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 

youth ? 
Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling 
smooth! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all ex- 
iled? 
Is 1 there no pity, no relenting ruth, 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their 
child. 



MARRIAGE. 



Of earthly goods the best is a good wife; 
A bad, the bitterest curse of human life 





A BOOK OF POEMS 





ROSES AND RUE. 

Dear, it is twilight time, the time of 
rest; 
Ah! cease that weary pacing to and 
fro; 
Sit down beside me in this [cushioned 
nest, 
Warm with the brightness of our 
ingle-glow. 

Dear, thou art troubled. Let me share 
thy lot 
Of shadow, as I share thy sunshine 
hours. 
I am no child, though childhood, half 
forgot, 
Lies close behind me, with its toys and 
flowers; 

I am a woman, waked by happy love 
To keep home's sacred altar-fire alight! 

Thou hast elected me to stand above 
All others in thine heart. I claim my 
right. 

'Not wife alone, but mate, and comrade 

true; 
I shared thy roses, let me share thy rue. 

Bitter? I know it. God hath made it so, 
But from His hand shall we take good 
alone, 
And evil never? Let the world's wealth 
go, 
Life hath no loss which love cannot 
atone. 

Show me the new hard path that we 
must tread; 

I shall not faint nor falter by the way: 
And be there cloud or sunshine overhead, 

I shall not fail thee to my dying day. 

But love me, love me; let our hearts and 
lips 

Cling closer in our sorrow than in joy; 
Let faith outshine our fortunes in eclipse, 

And love deem wealth a broken toy. 

Joy made us glad, let sorrow find us true; 
God blessed our roses, He will bless our 
rue. 



MARRIAGE. 

Even in the happiest choice, where fav'r- 

ing heaven 
Has equal love and fortune given, — 
Think not, the husband gain'd, that all is 

done; 
The prize of happiness must still be won. 



BE GOOD TO YOURSELF. 

"Good-bye, good-bye!" the driver said, 
As the coach went off in a whirl, 

(And the coachman bowed his handsome 
head ) : 
" Be good to yourself, my girl! " 

Ah ! many a fond good-bye I 've heard, 
From many an aching heart; 

And many a friendly farewell word, 
When strangers came to part; 

And I 've heard a thousand merry quips, 

And many a senseless joke, 
And many a fervent prayer from lips 

That all a-tremble spoke; 

And many a bit of good advice 
In smooth proverbial phrase; 

And many a wish — of little price — 
For health and happy days: 

But musing how the human soul 
( Whate'er the fates may will) 

Still measures by its self-control. 
Its greatest good or ill, — 

Of benedictions, I protest, 

'Mid many a shining pearl, 
1 like the merry coachman's best, — 

" Be good to yourself, my girl! " 



INSIGNIFICANT EXISTENCE. 

There are a number of us creep 
Into this world to eat and sleep, 
And know no reason why we 're born, 
But only to consume the corn, 
Devour the cattle, fowl and fish, 
And leave behind an empty dish. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




RICHES. 

What! old and rich, and childless too, 
And yet believe your friends are true? 



YOUSSOUF. 



A stranger came one night to Youssouf's 

tent, 
Saying, "Behold one outcast and in 

dread, 
Against whose life the bow of power is 

bent, 
Who flies, and has not where to lay his 

head; 
I come to thee for shelter and for food, 
To Youssouf, called through all our tribes 

'The Good.'" 

"This tent is mine," said Youssouf, "but 

no more 
Than it is God's; come in, and be at 

peace; 
Freely shalt thou partake of all my store, 

As I of His who buildeth over these 
Our tents His glorious roof of night and 

day, 
And at whose door none ever yet heard 

nay. 

So Youssouf entertained his guest that 

night, 
And waking him at day, said: "Here 

is gold, 
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy 

flight, 
Depart before the prying .day grow 

bold." 
As one lamp lights another, nor grows 

less, 
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

That inward light the stranger's face 
made grand, 
Which shines from all self-conquest; 
kneeling low, 
He bowed his forehead upon Youssouf's 
hand, 
Sobbing, " Sheik, I cannot leave thee 
so; 
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done 
nto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!" 



U? 



"Take thrice the gold," said Youssouf, 
" for with thee 
Into the desert, never to return, 
My one black thought shall ride away 
from me; 
First-born, for whom by day and night 
I yearn, 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees; 
Thou art avenged, my first-born, sleep in 



peace 



I LIKE THE LAD. 

I like the lad, who, when his father 

thought 
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed 

phrase 
Of vagrant worm by early songster 

caught, 
Cried, "Served him right! — it 's not at all 

surprising; 
The worm was punished, sir, for early 



rising 



SOLITUDE. 

Oh! that the desert were my dwelling 
place, 

With one fair spirit for my minister, 
That I might all forget the human race, 

And hating no one, love but only her. 



ECHOES. 



How sweet the answers echo makes 

To music at night 
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, 
And far away o'er lawns and lakes 

Goes answering light! 

Yet love hath echoes truer far, 

And far more sweet 
Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, 
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar 

The songs repeat. 

'Tis when the sigh — in youth sincere, 

And only then, — 
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear, 
Is by that one, that only dear, 

Breathed back again. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY TRUE LOVE HAS MY HEART. 


AN IDEAL SHATTERED. 


My true love hath my heart, and I have 


She sits beside me in the square old pew; 


his, 


Two little gray-gloved hands devoutly 


By just exchange one to the other 


hold 


given : 


Her dainty prayer-book, and her hymn- 


I hold his dear, aud mine he cannot miss, 


book, too; 


There never was a better bargain 


Warm sunbeams fall aslant her head's 


driven. 


bright gold. 




The preacher's words sound very far away, 


His heart in me keeps him and me in one; 


The sweet-voiced singers chant unheard 


My heart in him his thoughts and 


by me; 


senses guide: 


I watch my darling's upward look and say 


He loves my heart for once it was his 


Within myself: u 0h, I would I were like 


own ; 


thee! 


I cherish his because in me it bides. 


All else forgot; thy thoughts have flown 




above; 




Too pure, too high for earth and such 


' 


as I." 

Just then, with troubled eyes, my little 


THE ONE GRAY HAIR. 


love 


— ■ 


Leaned close and whispered, with a smoth- 


The wisest of the wise, 


ered sigh ; 


Listen to pretty lies, 


"That girl in seal-skin, just across the 


And love to hear them told; 


aisle, 


Doubt not that Solomon 


Thinks I don't know it's plush! Well, 


Listened to many a one, — 


I should smile!" 


Some in his youth, and more when he 
grew old. 






I never sat among 


WHEN AS IN SILKS MY JULIA 


The choir of wisdom's song, 


GOES. 


But pretty lies loved I, 


— 


As much as any king, — 


When as in silks my Julia goes, 


When youth was on the wing, 


Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows 


And (must it then be told?) when youth 


That liquefaction of her clothes. 


had quite gone by. 


Next when I cast mine eyes and see 




That brave vibration each way free; 


Alas! a,nd I have not 


how that glittering taketh me! 


The pleasant hour forgot, 




When one pert lady said, — 






"0 Landor! I am quite 




Bewildered with affright, 


TEACHING BY EXAMPLE. 


I see (sit quiet now!) a white hair on 





your head!" 


"What is the 'Poet's License,' say?," 




Asked rose-lipped Anna of a poet. 


Another, more benign, 


"Now give me an example, pray, 


Drew out that hair of mine, 


That when I see one I may know it." 


And in her own dark hair 


Quick as a flash he plants a kiss 


Pretended she had found 


Where perfect kisses always fall. 


That one, and twirled it round. — 


"Nay, sir! what liberty is this?" 


Fair as she was, she never was so fair. 


"The Poet's License,— that is all!" 










THE FISHERMAN 



U? 



25 





386 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE TIE. 

'Twas the counter for gentlemen's ties, 
Where maid with the brightest of eyes, 

Made the quickest of sales 

To extravagant males 
Of the haubles frivolity buys. 

Said a chap by her witcheries caught: 
" Oh deary, I say, have you got 

Some wear I can buy 

That]will never untie 
In a strong indissoluble knot? " 

"Oh, yes, 11 she exclaimed, "I can make 
A knot that you never can break, 

Except you resort 

To^a lawyer and court. 
Now what sort of a tie will you take? " 

Said the lad with a face very red; 
"You may tie me the knot as you said, 

Will you tie it for me? 11 

" Yes, deary,' v said she. 
Soon]the papers anounced they were wed. 



RETALIATION. 

She^was a^woman in her proudest bloom; 

I was a boy, by careless fancy led; 
I loved her as I loved the flowers per- 
fume, 
Or playful sunbeam o^r my dreaming 
head. 
I told my love in innocence and truth; 
Her proud lips curled, she scorned me for 
my youth. 



Time passed — and when does ever time 
stand still ? — 
Her charms had suffered as the years 
had sped; 
I was a man — slave only of my will — 
She had her courtiers, but they would 
not wed. 
Fain would she then my heart matured 

engage; 
But no! She scorned my youth; T spurned 
N> her age. 

id? 



THE WORLD WOULD BE BETTER. 

If men cared less for wealth and fame, 

And less for fame and glory; 
If writ in human hearts, a name 

Seemed better than in song and story; 
If men, instead of nursing pride, 

Would learn to hate it and abhor it, 
If more relied on love to guide — 

The world would be the better for it. 

If men dealt less in stocks and lands, 

And more in bonds and deeds fraternal; 
If Love's works had more willing hands 

To link this world to the supernal; 
If men stored up love's oil and wine, 

And on bruised human hearts would 
pour it; 
If "yours " and " mine " would once com- 
bine, 

The world would be the better for it. 

If more would act the play of life, 

And fewer spoil it in rehearsal; 
If bigotry would sheath its knife 

Till good became more universal; 
If custom, gray with ages grown, 

Had fewer blind men to adore it; 
If talent shone for truth alone — 

The world would be the better for it. 



If men were wise in little things — 

Affecting less in all their dealings 
If hearts had fewer rusted strings 

To isolate their kinder feelings; 
If men, when wrong beats down 
right, 

Would strike together to restore it; 
If right made might in every fight — 

The world would be the better for it 



the 



THANKS. 



Thanks to the human heart by which we 
live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and 
fears, — 
To me the meanest flower that blooms 
can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for 
tears. _ 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




A SEASIDE FLIRTATION. 

Again they have met for the season — 
. Brave Harold and Fair Leonore. 
Impelled by the old cogent reason, 

They stroll by the sea as of yore. 
They wonder so quickly time passes, 

And days into fortnights expand; 
Forgotten are all the old lasses — 

He presses her lily white hand. 

" I trust," he speaks low, "you remember 

That day by the shimmering sea — 
The words that I spoke last September, 

The last that j r ou whispered to me." 
"The time I recall," and she blushes; 

" You spoke in a low undertone. 
We stood, I believe, by the rushes, 

But — the words, dear, have forever 
flown." 

"No wonder" — a storm now is brew- 
ing— 

"My words you nowiail to recall. 
A fool interrupted my wooing — 

Remember that fellow named Hall? " 
She answers in voice soft and mellow; 

"And that, Mr. Brown, is not all — 
The man you call 'fool' and a 'fellow 1 

Is he whom I married last fall." 




LAKE SARATOGA. 

AN INDIAN" LEGEND. 

A lady stands beside the silver lake, 
" What," said the Mohawk, " wouldst 
thou have me do? " 
"Across the water, sir, be pleased to take 
Me and my children in thy bark canoe." 

"Ah!" said the Chief, "thou knowest 
not, I think, 
The legend of the lake, — hast ever 
heard 
That in its wave the stoutest boat will 
sink, 
If any passenger shall speak a word? " 



" Full well we know the Indian's strange 
belief," 

The lady answered with a civil smile; 
" But take us o'er the water, mighty chief; 

In rigid silence we will sit the while." 

Thus they embarked, but ere the little 
boat 
Was half across the lake, the woman 
gave 
Her tongue its wonted play — but still 
they float, 
And pass in safety o'er the utmost wave ! 

Safe on the shore, the warrior looked 

amazed, 

Despite the stoic calmness of his race; 

No word he spoke, but long the Indian 

gazed 

In moody silence in the woman's face. 

"What think you now?" the lady gayly 
said; 
"Safely to land your frail c,anoe is 
brought! 
No harm, you see, has touched a single 
head ! 
So superstition ever comes to naught!" 

Smiling, the Mohawk said: "Our safety 
shows 
That God is merciful to old and young; 
Thanks unto the Great Spirit! — well He 
knows 
The pale-faced woman cannot hold her 
tongue!" 



LOVE. 



The time I 've lost m wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 

The light that lies 

In woman's eyes 
Has been my heart's undoing. 

Tho' wisdom oft has sought me, 
I scorned the love she brought me, 

My only books 

Were woman's looks, 
And folly 's all they 've taught 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



(PfSl 



LOVE'S MELODRAMA. 

Act one: they met, as in a pleasing 
dream; 

Act two: he'll treat to soda and ice 
cream ; 

Act three: his cash, alas! it's nearly 
played; 

Act four: his girl grows cold, sedate and 
staid; 

Act five: just as his love is ripe and mel- 
low 

His girl is married to another fellow. 



TO A BEAUTIFUL STRANGER. 

A glance, a smile, — I see it yet! 

A moment ere the train was starting; 
How strange to tell! we scarcely met, 

And yet I felt a pang at parting. 

And you, (alas! that all the while 
'T is I alone who am confessing!) 

What thought was lurking in your smile 
Is quite beyond my simple guessing. 

I only know those beaming rays 
Awoke in me a strange emotion, 

Which, basking in their warmer blaze, 
Perhaps might kindle to devotion. 

Ah ! many a heart as stanch as this, 
By smiling lips allured from duty, 

Has sunk in passion's dark abyss, — 
"Wrecked on the coral reefs of 
beauty!" 

And so, 't is well the train's swift flight 
That bore away my charming stranger 

Took her — God bless her! — out of sight, 
And me, as quickly, out of danger! 



LOVE. 



Ah! love every hope can inspire; 
It banishes wisdom the while : 
And like lips of the nymph we admire, 
7 ,-Seems forever adorned with a smile. 



ANOTHER MELODRAMA. 

Act one: he meets her at the croquet 

grounds: 
Act two: to see her at her house he 

calls; 
Act three: most regularly he comes 

around; 
Act four: head over ears in love he 

falls; 
Act five: his manly passion he declares, 
And then her father kicks him down the 

stairs. 



SAID FANNY TO KATE. 

" What paper of all," said Fanny to Kate, 
'■' Is best to be used as a bustle, my dear? 
The Crescent I 'd use for size and for 
shape, 
As a gallant reserve to bring up the 
rear." 
" Well, I differ from you," sweet Fanny 
replied, — 
" Religion for ballast, and fashion for 
sail, — 
And of papers, ' The Christian Observer ' 
prefer; 
Since a moral it points, while adorning 
the tale." 



HAPPINESS. 



Order is heaven's first law; and this con- 

fest, 
Some are and must be greater than the 

rest, 
More rich, more wise; but who infers 

from hence, 
That such are happier, shocks all common 

sense. 



LOVE. 



The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, 
And hope is brightest when it dawns 
from fears; 
The rose is sweetest washed with morn- 
ing dew, 
And love is loveliest when embalmed 
in tears. _ 



S) 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




MAN'S LIFE. 

If a man could live a thousand years, 
When last his life had passed, 

He might by strict economy, 
A fortune have amassed. 

Then having gained some common sense, 

And knowledge, too, of life, 
He could select the woman who 

Would make him a true wife. 

But as it is man has n't time 

To even pay his debts, 
And weds to be acquainted with 

The woman whom he gets. 



THE BLARNEY STONE. 

In Blarney Castle, on a crumbling tower, 
There lies a stone (above your ready 
reach), 

Which to the lips imparts, 't is said, the 
power 
Of facile falsehood and persuasive 
speech, 

And hence, of one who talks in such a 
tone, 

The peasants say, "He's kissed the Blar- 
ney Stone." 



BY PROXY. 



Some time since, one of the brightest 
and wittiest of Cincinnati's girls went 
abroad, and when she returned home, 
about the first person to congratulate 

her upon her safe return was B , a 

young blood of the city, whose dollars 
exceeded his sense in the ratio of about 
a million to one. 

"Aw, Miss Y ," he said, "permit 

me to greet you. I know you have had 
a very pleasant trip abroad." 

"Yes," she answered, "a very pleasant 
trip, indeed. lywas all over the contin- 
ent, and through England, Scotland and 
Ireland." 

"Ah, in Ireland, and did you see the 
Blarney Stone." 




" Yes, I was there." 

"Oh, I should so delight to see it. It 
has always been a desire of mine to kiss 
that celebrated stone, but I have never 
had the opportunity." 

"Indeed, then you should go there." 

"I know, but I have not done so; but 
why should I not kiss it by proxy. You 
have been there and kissed, why should I 
not take the influence of Blarney from 
your lips," — and the smart Aleck stepped 
forward to proxify the young lady. 

But she drew back, and looking him 
squarely in the face said: "I beg your 

pardon, my dear Mr. B , but I sat 

upon the Blarney Stone." 

Like a man with a great sorrow, B 



sank down in a heap, and hasn't said 
"Ireland" since, and the very word 
"Blarney" makes him delirious, and he 
faints every time he hears the word men- 
tioned. 



LOVE. 



Oh magic of love! unembellish'd by you, 
Has the garden a blush or the herbage 
a hue? 
Or blooms there a prospect in nature or 
art, 
Like the vista that shines through the 
eye to the heart? 



FIDELITY. 

Though human, thou didst not deceive 
me, 
Though woman, thou didst not forsake, 
Though loved, thou foreborest to grieve 
me. 
Though slandered, thou never couldst 
shake. 

Though trusted, thou didst not disclaim 
me, 
Though parted, it was not to fly, 
Though watchful, 'twas not to defame 
me, 
Nor mute, that the\vorld]might belie 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






LOVE. DOUBT. 

Doubt thou the stars are fire; 

Doubt that the sun doth move: 
Doubt truth to be a liar; 

But never doubt I love. 



THE DOCTORS. 

Void of all honor, avaricious, rash, 

The daring tribe compound their boasted 
trash, — 

Tincture or syrup, lotion, drop or pill, 

All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill; 

And twenty names of cobblers turned to 
squires, 

Aid the bold language of these blushless 
liars. 
There are among them those who can- 
not read, 
And yet they'll buy a patent and suc- 
ceed; 
Will dare to promise dying sufferers 

aid, — 
For who, when dead, can threaten or 

upbraid ! 
With cruel avarice still tbey recom- 
mend 
More draughts, more syrups, to the 
journey's end. 

"I feel it not."— "Then take it every 
hour." 

"It makes me worse." — "Why, then it 
shows its power." 

"I fear to die." — "Let not your spirits 
sink, 

You 're always safe while you believe and 
drink." 

How strange to add, in this nefarious 
trade, 

That men of parts are dupes by dunces 
made; 

That creatures'nature meant should sweep 
our streets, 

Have purchased lands and mansions, 
parks and seats: 

Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they 
leave 

Their untaught sons their parents to de- 
ceive; 




And when they 're laid upon their dying 

bed, 
No thought of murder comes into their 

head; 
And then in many a paper through the 

year, 
Must cures and cases, oaths and proofs 

appear; 
Meu snatched from graves as they were 

dropping in, 
Their lungs coughed up, their bones 

pierced through their skin; 
Their liver all one schirrus, and the frame 
Poisoned with evils which they dare not 

name; 
Men who spent all upon physician's fees, 
Who never slept, nor had a moment's 

ease. 
For soul or body no concern had they, 
All their inquiry, "Can the patient 

pay?" 



COME REST IN THIS BOSOM. 

Come rest in this bosom, my own stricken 

deer, 
Though the herd have fled from thee, thy 

home is still here; 
Here still is the smile that no cloud can 

o'ercast, 
And a heart and a hand, all thy own to 

the last. 

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not 

the same 
Through joy and through torment, thro' 

glory and shame? 
I know not, I ask not, if guilt 's in that 

heart, 
I but know that I love thee, whatever 

thou art. 

Thou hast called me thy angel in mo- 
ments of bliss, 

And thy angel I '11 be 'mid the horrors 
of this, 

Through the furnace unshrinking thy 
steps to pursue, 

And shield thee and save thee, — or perish 
there, too. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TALLMAGE ON MARRIAGE. 

I have no words sufficiently eloquent 
to set forth my admiration of good wom- 
anhood. Good and true women never 
were so numerous as they are to-day. 
Women are now seventy-five per cent, 
better than ever they were. The women 
of this country are better educated than 
the men, and if things go on in the same 
ratio it will be difficult for the men to find 
enough ignorance in the opposite sex to 
make an appropriate consort. If I am 
under a delusion in this I hope to con- 
tinue in this delusion until I embark from 
this planet. There are a vast number of 
people who ought not to be married. 
There are nine hundred and forty thou- 
sand more women in England than men, 
and about the same number in this coun- 
try. 

The moral of such a fact is, that thou- 
sands of women should regard it as a duty 
to take measures so effective that they 
should be able to take care of themselves. 
Another fact is, that there are a very large 
number of men who are not fit to be mar- 
ried, and it is time to say that if a woman 
who loses her integrity and her honor is 
not fit to be married, then it is equally 
true that a man that is untrue to the best 
promptings of his moral nature, and is 
impure, is not fit to be married. I am, 
therefore, this morning, as a religious 
teacher, and as one who will have to give 
an account of his stewardship, about to 
give you some advice that should be 
adopted when you choose a wife. 

Martin Farquhar, the poet, recom- 
mended men to pray and seek divine 
guidance before they choose a wife. He 
and all people who advised the same thing 
were laughed at when they said this. 
Many of those who laughed then are 
laughing now on the other side of the 
mouth. Some good and wise men have 
wrecked their lives by this neglect. There 
was John Wesley — as good a man as 
ever lived — was chained to a woman who 
did all she could to destroy his influence, 
and sat in City Road Chapel making 
mouths at him while he preached. Then 



there are women who are scolds, and who 
look on you like a March northeaster. 
Then the opium-eating women — four 
hundred thousand of them in America 
to-day— who will have their drug al- 
though it costs them the greatest treasure 
of their household. After her dressmaker, 
her bair adjuster, her jeweler, and other 
mysterious agencies have transformed a 
woman, how can an unsophisticated man 
discern the real meaning of these phys- 
iological hieroglyphics? Men are by 
these means swindled; they make a bar- 
gain from a sample, and when the goods 
come to be delivered they find that they 
are not equal to the sample. They marry 
a sweet-tempered woman, as they sup- 
pose, and she turns out to be a Jezebel. 
They marry a woman as meek apparently 
as the sainted Mary, and they get a Lu- 
cretia Borgia, when they thought they 
had a Martha Washington. May I not, 
therefore, ask you to seek divine guidance 
before you choose a wife ? For there is 
no worse predicament on earth than to 
be unequally yoked together. 

Adam had not a large number to select 
a wife from, and, judging from the mis- 
take he made, I am glad that he was lim- 
ited to one or none. If you will take the 
divine direction you will make no mistake. 
A great deal has been said about woman 
being taken from the ribs of Adam. But 
there are twenty-four ribs, and there are 
twenty-three possibilities to one that you 
will get the wrong rib. 

John Milton, the blind poet, was told 
that his wife was a rose, and he replied, I 
am not much of a judge of color; but I 
think it is very likely so, for I feel the 
thorn. 

Look at Solomon, whose married life 
was as unhappy as it was multitudinous, 
and among the wise observations of his 
experience in this matter is this: "A con- 
tinuous dropping on a very rainy day, 
and a contentious woman, ure alike. 11 

If in this matter you make no mistake 
you will have two heavens, one here be- 
low and one hereafter; but if you do 
make a mistake you will have two hells, 
one here and one hereafter." 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




'T IS HARD. 

'T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal 
end. 



EULALIA. 



Now if my mistress shall be seen, 
In form and beauty of her mind, 

By virtue first, then choice, a queen,- 
Tell me if she were not designed 
Th 1 eclipse and glory of her kind. 



HER CREED. 



Do you think because I have fallen, be- 
cause I am scorned, down trod, 

That the soul of woman within me has 
lost its image of God? 

Do you think because I am fed on the 
foulest of all foul food? 

That I never am hungry, starving for a 
morsel of his own good? 

And because I have done with hoping for 

higher, nobler things, 
Do you think that never a longing my 

weary and worn heart wrings? 
I tell you I hate this vileness, with force 

that you cannot conceive 
In your fair, untempted sainthood, with 

force that you will not believe. 

Because the devil in this world has had 

all his will of me, 
You believe he should have me, to use me 

through all of eternity. 
Did the Lord give women souls, then, to 

furnish the devil, I pray, 
Something to do in the future to while 

the moments away? 

If you put your hand down in the dark- 
ness and brought it to light be- 
smirched, 

Would you be to blame for the vileness — 
would you be a part of the dirt? 

Ah! my soul in its undefilement shall 
pass from the devil at death, 

And wreathe in the air of heaven its first 
clean, wholesome breath. 




I tell you, in all of your fairness, you 

never have known your God. 
" Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth," 

and if I have felt his rod, 
Each stripe on my sin-stooped shoulders, 

each piercing pain that I bore, 
Have been counted up in your heaven for 

as much as your prayers or more. 

What right have you to a heaven you 

never have struggled to win? 
What right to his mercy to sinners who 

never have tasted sin? 
Lord Jesus died to redeem us; but you — 

why, you were born white, 
While I drank sin with my mother's 

milk, and I was born into night. 

Yet the pardon the Lord Christ brought 

us you claim for your very own; 
You kneel with your hallelujahs, and 

can't find room at the throne 
For me, with my plea for pity; for me, 

with my sin-stained heart; 
And for such as I am, you tell me, a hell 

has been set apart. 

God knows how I've striven to raise me 

out of these depths of shame; 
How a will that was stronger than mine 

has caused me to sink again: 
He has counted my fruitless efforts — yes, 

just as he counted the sneer 
That showed on your face as you passed 

me, cowered on the church step 

here. 

If I didn't believe in a future — if I 

hadn't somehow a thought 
There 's a life over there where women 

can neither be sold nor bought — . 
Do you think I 'd have hung on to this 

life all of these wretched years? 
Why, I 'd gone long ago out of reach of 

anyone's smiles or sneers. 



THE THINGS WE KNOW. 

The things we know are neither rich or 

rare, 
But wonder how the devil they got there 



Sn 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



393 






THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE. 

Genteel in personage, 
Conduct, and equipage; 
Noble by heritage; 

Generous and free; 
Brave, not romantic; 
Learned, not pedantic; 
Frolic, not frantic, — 

This must he be. 

Honor maintaining, 
Meanness disdaining, 
Still entertaining, 

Engaging and new; 
Neat, but not finical; 
Sage, but not cynical; 
Never tyrannical, 

But ever true. 



IF YOUR FRIEND. 

If your friend does wrong, go you and 
find him, 
And tell him so frankly, as true friends 
must. 
But drop no word of his faults behind 
him — 
No man is bettered who hears him dis- 
cussed. 

There are fairer heights for our mind's 
scaling, 
There are nobler themes for our speech 
to choose, 
Than that friend's fault, or this friend's 
failing, 
If they are not near us to hear our 
views. 

Our joys are so few, and our hurts so 
many, 
We should help each other o'er life's 
hard track; 
And no man is strengthened or aided any, 
Or lifted higher by blows in the back. 

So tell your friend to his face, if you 
doubt him, 

Scold him soundly, and blame his ways; 
But if you speak to another about him, 

Find his virtues and sing their praise. 

if 



PORTIA'S PICTURE. 

Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi- 
god 
Hath come so near creation? Move these 

eyes? 
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
Seem they in motion? Here are severed 

lips, 
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar 
Should sunder such sweet friends: Here 

in her hairs 
The painter plays the spider, and hath 

woven 
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of 

men, 
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: But her 

eyes- 
How could he see to do them? Having 

made one, 
Methinks it should have power to steal 

both his, 
And leave itself unfurnished. 



MAN— WOMAN. 

"Man's love is of man's life a thing 
apart; 
'T is woman's whole existence. Man 
may range 
The court, camp, church, the vessel and 
the mart, 
Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in ex- 
change 
Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, 
And few there are whom these cannot 
estrange: 
Men have all these resources, we but 

one, — 
To love again, and be again undone." 



THE REASON WHY. 

Why do I love at early morn to wake, 
When roses still are wet with night's 
damp dews? 
Because [ then can turn myself and take 
Another snooze. 



JX 






'i 




AQBOOK of poems 




WOULD MY DELIA KNOW. 

Would my Delia know if I love, let her 

take 
My last thought at riight, and the first 

when 1 wake. 



NOT BUILT, AND BUILT THAT 
WAY. 

A girl used to work and a girl used to 
clean — 
Maud Muller could even rake hay; 
But the girls of the period — 'tis easily 
seen — 
Are not built in that delicate way. 

A girl can be gentle — a nice little lamb, 
And a girl (when she's good) will 
pray; 
But to kiss a young lady, she don't care 

a 

Because she aint built that way. 

A girl is a darling, a treasure, a pet, 
No matter how much she may weigh; 

But we can 't do without her, we love 
her, you bet, 
Because she is built that way. 



THE LESSONS OF THE STREET. 

On the corners we may find them, 

Or in clusters here and there : 
In the day-time or the night-time, 

All along the thoroughfare; 
Standing idly and forgetting 

They should earn the bread they eat, 
Are the many who are learning 

All the lessons of the street. 

In their homes is naught inviting; 

Poverty and want are there; 
Wasting demons — thirsting ever — 

Serve to keep the cupboard bare; 
And the little babies wander 

Out of doors on toddling feet, 
Quick to learn the lessons taught them 

Every hour upon the street. 



Shame and Crime, their ready pupils, 

Here of every age may find: 
Sons of wealth and rank, to evil 

And to idleness inclined; 
In the school of vice progressing, 

They with base-born rogues compete, 
Who have won a high distinction 

From their training in the street. 

Maidens fresh in youthfuU beauty, 

Cherished in the heart and home; 
Dearly loved ones — vain and thought- 
less — 

From the fireside choose to roam; 
Knowing naught the many dangers 

A.nd disasters they may meet, 
By their every-day attendance 

On the lessons of the street. 

Many a life that started bravely, 

Full of promise, pride and zeal — 
Stirred within by holy passions 

That the knavish never feel — 
He has been o'erthrown in battle, 

Led to sure and swift defeat, 
By the poison and pollution 

Of the lessons of the street. 

Oh, ye mothers, train your darlings 

So to love their homes, that they, 
With the idle and the vicious 

Will not ever go astray. 
With a chain of strong affection 

Bind them to the safe retreat, 
That their minds may not be tainted 

By the lessons of the street. 



BON VOYAGE. 

The dear, loved one of my soul, to-night 
Is far from the arms that love her, 

Tossed by the grand old ocean's might, 
With the starlit sky above her; 

But my heart goes with her everywhere, 

As I pray for her with a fervent prayer. 
Sleeping or waking, the deep, dark 
eyes 

Look into mine through the happy past; 
Joys and tears and sorrows and sighs, 

Tingeing a dream too sweet to last. 
Daily and nightly for her I pray, 
For I love her now, and will alway. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




YOU SAID. 

You said that you would come again 

When winter's storms were o'er, 
When hawthorn blossomed in the lane 

And spring was green once more. 
But now the ripening corn is high, 

The hawthorn bloom is shed, 
The golden summer days pass by, 

And all my hopes are dead! 

You said, where'er your steps might 
range 

Your heart would still be mine; 
You said true love would never change, 

For it was made divine. 
But now I 've learned that lover's vows 

Are changeful as the moon; 
Truth falls like May bloom from the 
boughs, 

And love is dead too soon! 

You said, though other lips should smile, 

'T would be in vain for you; 
That rarest charms could ne'er beguile 

A heart so firm and true. 
But now my tears, like falling rain, 

Blot out the dying day, 
And you will surely come again 

To kiss my tears away ! 



They name thee before me, 

A knell to mine ear; 
A shudder comes o'er me, — 

Why wert thou so dear? 
They know not I knew thee, 

Who knew thee too well: 
Long, long shall I rue thee 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met: 

In silence I greive 
That thy heart could forget, 

Thy spirit deceive. 
If I should meet thee, 

After long years, 
How should I greet thee ? — 

With silence and tears. 



FOR ONCE. 




WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 

When we two parted 

In silence and tears, 
Half broken-hearted, 

To sever for years, 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 

Colder thy kiss: 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow; 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feel now. 
Thy vows are all broken, 

And light is thy fame; 
I hear thy name spoken, 

And share in its shame. 



For once attempt not to despise 

What I esteem a rule — 
Who early loves, though young, is wise- 

Who old, though gray, a fool. 



WE PART. 



We part without the last regret, 
Except that we have ever met. 



CONTENT. 



Think'st thou the man whose mansions 

hold 
The worldling's pomp and miser's gold, 

Obtains a richer prize 
Than he who in his cot at rest, 
Finds heavenly peace a willing guest, 
And bears the promise in his breast, 

Of treasure in the skies? 



CORRUPTION. 

Sweetest things turn sourest by their 

deeds; 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than 

weeds. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DWELLING PLACE. 

Where would you dwell, my love? said I, 
Your dwelling place, where would it be? 

In mansion, or a mountain high, 
Or in a cottage by the sea? 

"A dwelling place," my love replied, 
" On mountains or by ocean blue, 

Would be the same if by your side; 
If living there, my love, with you." 



A LEAP YEAR SKETCH. 

First I saw her on the street, 

Oh how sweet! 
Face so fair and form so neat, 
Pearly teeth and dainty feet, 
To behold her was a treat, — 

Quite complete. 

Next I met this maid of guile, 

On Long Isle; 
As I lightly tipped my tile, 
"Would," said she 'Til walk awhile, 
Down the road, say half a mile ? " 

I should smile. 

She was sunshine's brightest ray, 

Pretty Fay. 
I was happy, bright and gay; 
The fact is 't was salary day, 
And I had not a bill to pay; 

Strange to say. 

Near a pretty rivulet, 

This coquette 
Whispered: "Let me be your pet 
Down life's path, with thorns beset " — 

******* 

It was leap year — did I get ? 
Well — you bet. 



EXTRAVAGANCE. 

The man who builds, and wants where- 
with to pay, 
Provides a home from which to run away. 



GRIEF. 

What is the worst of woes that wait on. 
age? 
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the 
brow? 
To view each loved one blotted from life's 
page, 
And be alone on earth as I am now. 



'TIS STRANGE. 

'T is strange that those we lean on most, 
Those in whose lap our limbs are 
nursed, 

Fall into shadow, soonest lost: 

Those we love most are taken first. 

God gives us love. Something to love 
He lends us; but, when love is grown 

To ripeness, that on which it throve 
Falls off, and love is left alone. 

This is the curse of time. Alas! 

In grief I am not all unlearned; 
Once through my own doors death did 
pass; 

One went who never hath returned. 

He will not smile — not speak to me 
Once more. Two years his chair is 
seen 

Empty before us. That was he 
Without whose life I had not been. 



OVER-CANDID. 

Bouncing Bess, discoursing free, 

Owned, with wondrous meekness, 
Just one fault (what could it be?) 

One peculiar weakness; 
She in candor must confess 

Nature failed to send her 
Woman's usual tenderness 

Toward the other gender. 
Foolish Bessie — thus to tell; 

Had she not confessed it, 
Not a man who knows her well 

Ever would have guessed it! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE MASQUERADE. 

The best-matched doves in Hymen's cage 
Were paired in youth's romantic season; 

Laugh as you will at passion's rage, 

The most unreasonable age 

Is what is called the age of reason. 

In love affairs, we all have seen, 

The heart is oft the best adviser; 
The gray might well consult the " green," 
Cool sixty learn of rash sixteen, 
And go away a deal the wiser. 



WISHING. 



I wish — that friends were always true, 

And motives always pure; 
I wish the good were not so few, 

I wish the bad were fewer; 
I wish that parsons ne'er forgot 

To heed their pious teaching; 
I wish that practicing was not 

So different from preaching! 

I wish— that modest worth might be 

Appraised with truth and candor; 
I wish that innocence were free 

From treachery and slander; 
I wish that men their vows would mind; 

That women ne'er were rovers; 
I wish that wives were always kind, 

And husbands always lovers! 

I wish — in fine — that Joy and Mirth, 

And every good Ideal, 
May come erewhile, throughout the earth, 

To be the glorious Real; 
Till God shall every creature bless 

With his supremest blessing, 
And Hope be lost in Happiness, 

And wishing in Possessing! 



DUMB SWANS. 

Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do 

lovers prove; 
They love indeed who quake to say they 

love. 




A WOMAN IN THE CASE. 

I think it was a Persian king 

Who used to say, that evermore 
In human life each evil thing 

Comes of the sex that men adore; 
In brief, that nothing e'er befell 

To harm or grieve our hapless race. 
But, if you probe the matter well, 

You '11 find a woman in the case! 

And then the curious tale is told 

How, when upon a certain night 
A climbing youngster lost his hold, 

And, falling from a ladder's height, 
Was found, alas! next morning dead, 

His Majesty, with solemn face, 
As was his wont, demurely said, 

" Pray, who 's the woman in the case?" 

And how a lady of his court, 

Who deemed the royal whim absurd, 
Rebuked him, while she made report 

Of the mischance that late occurred; 
Whereat the king replied in glee, 

" I 've heard the story, please your 
Grace, 
And all the witnesses agree 

There was a woman in the case! 

" The truth, your Ladyship, is this 

(Nor is it marvelous at all), 
The chap was climbing for a kiss, 

And got, instead, a fatal fall. 
Whene'er a man — as I have said — 

Falls from a ladder, or from grace, 
Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head, 

There is a woman in the case! " 



OH! BEST OF DELIGHTS. 

Oh! best of delights, as it everywhere is, 

To be near the loved ones, — what a rap- 
ture is his 

Who in moonlight and music thus sweet- 
ly may glide 

O'er the Lake of Cashmere with that one 
by his side! 

If woman can make the worst wilderness 
dear, 

Think, think what a heaven she must 
make of Cashmere! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






GIVE THEM NOW. 

If you have gentle words and looks, my 
friends, 
To spare for me — if you have tears to 
shed 
That I have suffered — keep them not, I 
pray, 
Until I hear not, see not, being dead. 

If you have flowers to give — fair lily 
buds, 
White roses ; daisies (meadow stars that 
be 
My own dear namesake) — let them smile 
and make 
The air, while yet I breathe it, sweet 
for me. 

For loving looks, though fraught with 
tenderness, 
And kindly tears, though they fall 
thick and fast, 
AndJ words of praise, alas! can naught 
avail 
To^lif t the shadow from a life that 's 
past. 

And rarest blossoms, what can they suf- 
fice, 
Offered to one who can no longer gaze 
Upon their beauty? Flowers on coffins 
laid 
Impart no sweetness to departed days. 




HAD I A CAVE. 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant shore, 
When the winds howl to the wave's 
dashing roar, 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my lost repose, 
Till grief my eyes should close, 
Ne'er to wake more ! 

Falsest of womankind! canst thou de- 
clare 
All thy fond-plighted vows, — fleeting as 
air? 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury, 
Then in thy bosom try 
What peace is there! 



THERE ARE MOMENTS. 

There are moments in life when the spirit 
receives 

Whole volumes of thought on its un- 
written leaves. 



YOUR COMING. 

I know not, love, how first you found me, 

What instinct led you here; 
Uknow the world has changed around 
me 
Since once you came so near. 
I yield a thousand claims to noux-ish this, 
At last the dearest hope, the nearest 
tie, 
And looking but to you for happiness, 
Happy am I. 

How lightly passed the maiden leisure, 

That youth and freedom chose, 
The careless days of peace and pleasure, 

The night of pure repose; 
So swift a touch could set the tune amiss! 
So brief a shadow blot the morning 
sky! 
Yet if the heart be made for happiness, 
Happy am I. 

love, your coming taught me trouble; 

Your parting taught me pain. 
My breath grew quick, my blood ran 
double — 
It leaped in every vein. 
Yet, ah! has time outdone the lover's 
kiss, 
The look — the burning look — the low 
reply ? 
If these be all the holds of happiness, 
Happy am I. 

You lend to earth a vague emotion; 

Myself a stranger it seems; 
Your glance is mixed with sky and ocean, 

Your voice is heard in dreams. 
The good I choose is weighed with that I 
miss, 
My idlest laughter mated with a sigh, 
And moving only in your happiness, 
Happy am I. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




TWO SISTERS. 

Two sisters with their arms entwined, 

there stand 

Before a fortune-teller bowed with age, 

Who slowly turns with feeble, faltering 

hand 

The cards prophetic, like a mystic page. 

One dark, one fair, and both fresh as the 
morn; 
One like the flower which blooms in 
autumn late, 
The other like the spring's pale, sad first- 
born, 
Together there they wait to learn their 
fate. 

"In life, alas! I see no joy for thee," 
The gypsy said to her, the dark-eyed 
maid; 
" Tell me, I pray, will he at least love 
me?" 
" Yes." " That alone is happiness," she 
said." 

"Love on thy heart shall shed no glad- 
dening ray," 
The'gypsy said to her with snow-white 
brow; 

"Shall I love him, at least, tell me, I 

n 11 

pray r 
"Yes." "Then for me that will be 
bliss enow." 



WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE 
LOWLY PLAIN. 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain, 
And you, my love, as high as heaven 
above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me your hum- 
ble swain 
Ascend to heaven, in honor of my love. 

Were'I asjieavenjabove^the'plain, 

•_ And] you, my love, as ^humble Jand as 

low 
As'are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Whereso'er you were, with you my love 
should go. 



Were you the earth, dear love, and I the 

skies, 
My love should shine on you like to the 

sun, 
And look upon you with ten thousand 

eyes, 
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the 

world were done. 
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly 

love you. 



THERE NEVER YET WAS FLOWER 
FAIR IN VAIN. 

There never yet was flower fair in vain, 

Let classic poets rhyme it as they will; 
The season toils that it may blow again, 
And summer's heart doth feel its every 
ill; 
Nor is a true soul ever born for naught: 

Wherever any such hath lived and died, 
There hath been something for true free- 
dom wrought, 
Some bulwark leveled, on the evil side. 
Toil on then, greatness! thou art in the 
right, 
However narrow souls may call thee 
wrong: 
Be as thou wouldst be in thine own clear 
sight, 
And so thou wilt in all the world's ere- 
long: 
For worldlings cannot, struggle as they 

may, 
From man's great soul one great thought 
hide away. 




OH, HEAVEN BE KIND. 

Oh now, kind Heaven, be this my latest 
breath ! 
Here end my life, or make it worth 
my care, 
Absence from whom we love is worse 
than death, 
And frustrate hope severer than de- 
spair. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A PASSER-BY. 

I watched her pass with quiet grace; 

The sunlight lingers on the spot 
To gently kiss her sweet shy face, 

I wonder if she sees or not 
The crippled lad who calls her his, 
Whose only glimpse of heav'n she is. 

If only I could touch her hand, 

Or hear her speak, or meet her eyes ! 

If once, just once, she would but stand 
Near me, and kiss me angel-wise! 

Life might be dreary as before, 

But hard, cold, empty — never more! 

I know a place where breezes low 
Stir the soft grass and daisy-heads; 

That is my heaven. Some day I know 
They 11 find me room where no one 
treads, 

Where I can lie, no longer ill, 

And dream of her, and love her still. 



IP I THINK ON THEE. 

But if the while I think on thee, dear 

friend, 
All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 



THE END OF THE STORY. 

You were standing alone in the silence, 

When I passed down the stair that 
night, 
Alone with your thoughts in the shadow, 

Away from the fire's soft light, 
And never a greeting you gave me, 

Nor a word your lips let fall, 
As I came from the light to your side, 
dear, 

That night in the old oak hall. 

But I knew, ah, so well, the secret 
You fancied you kept unseen, 

And I hated the pride that was standing 
Like a shadow our heart between. 

So I told you that night a story, 
And you listened as in a spell, 

Till I saw that you guessed the meaning 
\ Of the story 1 tried to tell. 



You fain would have silenced me then, 
dear; 

To leave it untold were best — 
Too late, for I learned, as you drew me 

To your heart, that you knew the rest. 
And the shadow passed by from between 
us, 

Forever, beyond recall, 
As you whispered the end of the story 

That night, in the old oak hall. 



DELIA. 



How vain, alas! how idle hope would'be, 
That would build happiness remote from 
thee. 



THE STATION OF REST. 



i&t 



'T is the grand central point of all rail- 
ways, 

All roads centre here when they end; 
'T is the final result of all tourists, 

All rival lines meet here and blend. 
All tickets, all mile books, all passes, 

If stolen or begged for or bought, 
On whatever road or division, 

Will bring you at last to this spot. 

If you pause at the City of Trouble, 

Or wait iu the Valley of Tears, 
Be patient, the train will move onward 

And rush down the track of the years. 
Whatever the place is you seek for, 

Whatever your aim or your quest, 
You shall come at last with rejoicing 

To the beautiful City of Rest. 

You shall store all your baggage of 
worries, 
You shall feel perfect peace in this 
realm, 
You shall sail with old friends on fair 
waters, 
With joy and delight at the helm. 
You shall wander in cool fragrant gar- 
dens 
With those who have loved you the 
best, 
And the hopes that were lost in life's 
journey 
You shall find in the City of Rest. 




• a "C?~V 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



401 






LET IT PASS. 

Be not swift to take offense; 

Let it pass! 
Anger is a foe to sense; 

Let it pass! v 

Brood not darkly o'er a wrong 
Which will disappear ere long, 
Rather sing this cheery song — 

Let it pass! 

Strife corrodes the purest mind; 

Let it pass! 
As the unregarded wind, 

Let it pass! 
Any vulgar souls that live 
May condemn without reprieve; 
'T is the noble who forgive, 

Let it pass! 

Echo not an angry word; 

Let it pass! 
Think how often you have erred; 

Let it pass! 
Siuce our joys must pass away, 
Like the dew-drops on the spray, 
Wherefore should our sorrows stay? 

Let it pass! 

If for good you 've taken ill, 

Let it pass! 
Oh! be kind and gentle still; 

Let it pass ! 
Time at last makes all things straight; 
Let us not resent, but wait, 
And our triumph shall be great: 

Let it pass! 

Bid your anger to depart, 

Let it pass! 
Lay these kindly words to heart, 

Let it pass! 
Follow not the giddy throng; 
Better be wronged than do wrong: 
Therefore sing the cheery song, 

Let it pass! 



THE WORLD. 

The world is ever as we take it, 
And life, dear friends, is what we make it. 
26 



SAINT PETER'S POLITENESS. 

• 
As Peter sat at heaven's gate 

A maiden sought permission, 
And begged of him, if not too late, 

To give her free admission. 

"What claim hast thou to enter here?" 

He cried with earnest mien; 
"Please sir," she said, 'twixt hope and 
fear, 

"I'm only just sixteen." 

"Enough," the hoary guardian said, 
And the gate wide open threw; 

"That is the age when every maid, 
Is girl and angel too." 



THE DYING GERTRUDE TO WAL- 
DEGRAVE. 

Clasp me a little longer on the brink 
Of fate! while I can feel thy dear 
caress; 
And when this heart hath ceased to beat, 
think, 
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess, 
That thou hast been to me all tender- 
ness, 
And friend to more than human friend- 
ship just. 
Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness, 
And by the hopes of an immortal trust, 
God shall assuage thy pangs, when I am 
laid in dust! 

Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart, 
The scene thy bursting tears too deep 
will move, 
When my dear father took thee to his 
heart; 
And Gertrude thought it ecstacy to 

rove 
With thee, as with an angel, through 
the grove 
Of peace, imagining her lot was cast 
In heaven; for ours was not like earthly 
love. 
And must this parting be our very last? 
No! I shall love thee still, when death 
itself is past. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




YOUNG WOMEN AND YOUNG 
MEN. 

Young women, beware, for goodness 1 

sake! 
Of every sort of a "serpent snake;" 
Remember, tbe rogue is apt to deceive, 
And played the deuce with Grandmother 

Eve! 

Young men, it 's a critical thing to go 
Exactly right with a lady in tow: 
But when you are on the proper track, 
Just go ahead, and never look back! 



CAN YOU GUESS. 

We wandered through the orchard, 

Beside the dear old mill, 
And, save the babbling streamlet, 

All else was hushed and still; 
The golden starlight shimmer'd 

Among the apple bloom, 
And clover blossoms scented 

All the eventide 's soft gloom. 

And he was strangely silent, 

And never spoke a word; 
And my heart beat, oh, so loudly, 

I'm sure each throb he heard! 
I wondered why he spoke not, 

I felt so much distress; 
All at once he whispered something — 

What he whispered — can you guess? 

The words were low and broken, 

But, oh, the thrilling tone ! 
I wished him very near me, 

Yet I longed to be alone. 
His eyes met mine so fondly, 

In tender, sweet caress; 
In that look I read a story — 

What I read there — can you guess? 

Then somehow, oh, so softly! 

I am drawn close to his breast, 
Where my head unconscious lingers 

Like a birdling in its nest; 
And my lips somehow 'gainst something, 

I blushing, shyly press, 
With pulses all a-glowing — 
^What was it — can you guess? 




The stars still tremble brightly 

Thro' all the cloudless dome, 
And the stream o'er mossy pebbles 

Makes its tiny flecks of foam; 
And the silence is but broken 

By my little whispered "Yes" 
In answer to his question — 

What question — can you guess ? 

Ah, that old, old apple orchard, 

Will ever be to me 
The spot most dear and sacred 

Of all on land and sea; 
And its apple bloom and clover 

I '11 ever love and bless, 
And the little wimpling streamlet, 

And the reason — can you guess ? 

The soft spring days are fleeting, , 

In sunshine and in rain; 
Soon blooms will gem the meadows, 

And roses blow again; 
And when those fair, glad roses 

Deck the lawn with loveliness, 
Something sweet will surely happen — 

What will happen — can you guess? 



LAUGH. 



Aye, laugh, if laugh you will, at my 
crude speech; 
But women sometimes die of such a 
greed, — 
Die for the small joys held beyond their 
reach, 
And the assurance they have all they 
need. 



WHA.T SHALL WE SAY? 

Ah! what shall we say of one who walks 
In fields of flowers, to choose the weeds? 

Reads authors of whom she never talks, 
And talks of authors she never reads? 

She 's a charming woman, I 've heard it 
said, 

By other women as light as she; 
But all in vain I puzzle my head 

To find wherein the charm may be. 



A} 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



403 



SO GOES THE WORLD. 

So goes the world ! each thankless elf, 
Whate'er may be his worldly state, 

Imputes his blessings to himself, 
And lays his blunders all to fate. 



THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE 
GLOW WORM. 

A nightingale, that all day long, 
Had cheered the village with his song, 
Nor yet at eve his note suspended, 
Nor yet when eventide was ended, 
Began to feel, as well he might, 
The keen demands of appetite; 
When looking eagerly around, 
He spied, far off, upon the ground, 
A something shining in the dark, 
And knew the glow-worm by his spark. 
So stooping down from hawthorn top, 
He thought to put him in his crop. 

The worm, aware of his intent, 
Harangued him thus, right eloquent, — 
"Did you admire my lamp, 1 ' quoth he, 
u As much as I your minstrelsy, 
You would ahbor to do me wrong, 
As much as I to spoil your song; 
For 't was the self same power divine, 
Taught you to sing and me to shine; 
That you with music, I with light, 
Might beautify and cheer the night." 

The songster heard his short oration, 
And warbling out his approbation, 
Released him, as my story tells, 
And found a supper somewhere else. 
Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
Their real interests to discern; 
That brother should not war with brother, 
And worry and devour each other: 
But sing, and shine, by sweet consent, 
'Till life's poor transient night is spent, 
Respecting in each other's case, 
The griefs of nature and of grace. 

Those Christians best deserve the name, 
Who studiously make peace their aim : 
Peace, both the duty and the prize, 
Of him that creeps and him that flies. 



A GLOVE. 

Ah, yesterday I found a glove, 
Grown shabby, full of tiny rips, 

But dear to me because my love 

Once through it thrust her finger-tips. 

A glove one would not care to see 
Upon his arm in public street; 

Yet here, I own, there is for me 
No relic in the world more sweet. 

A faint, far scent of lavender 

Steals from it, as the clover smelt 

When through the field 1 walked with 
her, 
And plucked the blossoms for her belt. 

Faith ! but I loved the little hand 
That used to wear this time-stained 
thing! 

Its slightest gesture of command 
Would set my glad heart fluttering. 

Poor stained, worn-out, long-wristed 
glove! 

I think it almost understands 
That, reverently and with love, 

I hold it in my trembling hands. 

And that it is so dear to me, 

With its old fragrance, far and faint, 
Because my mother wore it, she — 

On earth my love, in heaven my saint. 



MY MOTHER. 

Go, and at the hour of midnight, when 

our last farewell is o'er, 
Kneeling on our place of parting, I will 

bless thee evermore. 



IRENE. 



I never thought to know what I have 
known, 
The rapture, dear, of being loved by 
you; 
I never thought, within my heart, to own 
One wish so blest that you should share 
it too. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TEARS. 

Tears are the oldest and the commonest 
Of all things upon earth; and yet how 
new 
The tale each time told by them! how 
unblest 
Were life's hard way without their 
heavenly dew! 

Joy borrows them from Grief: Faith 

trembles lest 
She lose them: even Hope herself smiles 

thro 1 
The rainbow they make round her as 

they fall: 
And Death,' that cannot weep, sets 

weeping all. 



WHEN THAT OLD RING WAS 

NEW. 

Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; 

ah, summers not a few, 
Since I put it on your finger first, have 

passed o'er me and you; 
And, love, what changes we have seen, — 

what care and pleasures, too, — 
Since you became my own dear wife, 

when this old ring was new ! 

0, blessings on that happy day, the hap- 
piest of my life, 

When, thanks to God, your low, sweet 
"Yes" made you my loving wife! 

Your heart will say the same; I know 
that day's as dear to you, — 

That day that made me yours, dear wife, 
when this old ring was new. 

How well do I remember now your young 

sweet face that day! 
How fair you were, how dear you were, 

my tongue could hardly say; 
Nor how I doated on you; 0, how proud 

I was of you ! 
But did I love you more than now, when 

this old ring was new? 



No, no! no fairer were you then than at 

this hour to me; 
And, dear as life to me this day, how 

could you dearer be? 
As sweet your face might be that day as 

now it is 'tis true; 
But did I know your heart as well when 

this old ring was new? 

And blessed be God ! all he has given are 
with us yet; around 

Our table, every precious life left to us 
still is found. 

Though cares we 've known, with hope- 
ful hearts the worst we 've strug- 
gled through; 

Blest be His name for all His love since 
this old ring was new! 

The past is dear, its sweetness still our 

memories treasure yet; 
The griefs we 've borne, together borne, 

, we would not now forget. 
Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart 

unto heart still true, 
We '11 share as we have shared all else 

since this old ring was new. 

And 0, when death shall come at last to 
bid me to my rest, 

May I die looking in those eyes, and rest- 
ing on that breast; 

0, may my parting gaze be blessed with 
the dear sight of you, 

Of those fond eyes, — fond as they were 
when this old ring was new. 



ONLY THIS WALK TO THE STILE. 

Only this walk to the stile; one parting 

word by the river, 
That flows so quiet and cold, ebbing and 

flowing forever. 
"Good-bye!" Let me wait to hear the 

last, last sound of his feet! 
Ah me! but I think in this life of ours 

the bitter outweighs the sweet. 





A BOOK OF TOEMS 




CONCEALED GRIEF AT PARTING. 

Ah! wherefore should my weeping maid 
suppress 
Those gentle signs of undissembled 
woe? 
When from soft love proceeds the deep 
distress, 
Ah! why forbid the willing tears to 
flow? 

Since for my sake each translucent drop 
Breaks forth, best witness of thy 
truth sincere, 
My lips should drink the precious mix- 
ture up, 
And ere it falls, receive the trembling 
tear. 

Trust me, these symptoms of thy faith- 
ful heart, 
In absence shall my dearest hope sus- 
tain ; 
Myra! since such thy sorrow that we 
part, 
Such when we meet thy joy shall be 
again. 



FAULTLESS MAN. 

Whoever thinks a faultless man to see, 
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor ne'er 
can be. 



MY MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

I married one evening in Autumn, 

A rosy cheeked, rollicking girl, 
Her eyes were as bright as midsummer, 

Her teeth were ike pebbles of pearl. 
The presents were early presented, 

As handsome as ever I saw, 
But donors quite frequently whispered, 

Beware of your mother-in-law. 

I rented a one-story cottage, 

Just out of the noise of the town, 
And happy as orioles mated, 

We settled contentedly down. 
And somehow it presently happened, 

That bundles and dainties I saw, 
Pass into the door of our kitchen, 

Sweet gifts from my mother-in-law. 



Sometimes when my labor was heavy, 

And wages exceedingly low, 
I sank on my pillow discouraged, 

Bewailing my trouble and woe; 
But trouble was suddenly lifted, 

And icy ill humor would thaw, 
When round rolling dollars would jingle 

From the hand of my mother-in-law. 

But once on a cold winter morning, 

When snow mantled valley and hill, 
The wife I had cherished so fondly, 

Lay silent, and speechless, and still, 
And I with two wee little children, 

Was left in the world all alone, 
To long for a smile that had vanished, 

To weep for a face that had gone. 

I thought of the sorrows about me, 

I thought of the varied past, 
And wondered what hand in the future, 

Would fondle my darlings at last; 
Aud lo ! like an angel from heaven, 

Through torrents of tear drops I saw 
A form bending down to my babies, 

The form of my mother-in-law. 



MY DARLING JANE. 

My darling Jane has gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore! 
Shall we not meet as heretofore 
Some summer morning. 



TO AMYNTA. 

When years and months have glided by, 
And on this verse you cast your eye, 
Remember 'twas your friend sincere 
That left this kind remembrance here. 



I CARE NOT. 



I care not much for gold or land; 

Give me a mortgage here and there, 
Some good bank stock — some note of 
hand, 

Or trifling railroad share. 
I only ask that fortune send, 
A little more than I can spend. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






THE FIRST SETTLER'S STORY. 

It ain't the funniest thing a man can 
do — 

Existing in a country when it 's new; 

Nature, who moved in first — a good long 
while — 

Has things already somewhat her own 
style, 

And she don't want her woodland splen- 
dors battered, 

Her rustic furniture broke up and scat- 
tered, 

Her paintings, which long years ago were 
done 

By that old splendid artist-king, the Sun, 

Torn down and dragged in Civilization's 
gutter 

Or sold to purchase settler's bread-and 
butter. 

She don't want things exposed from 
porch to closet, 

And so she kind o 1 nags the man who 
does it. 

She carries in her pockets bags of seeds, 

As general agent of the thriftiest weeds; 

She sends her black- birds, in the earliest 
morn, 

To superintend his fields of planted corn; 

She gives him rain past any duck's de- 
sire — 

Then maybe several weeks of quiet fire; 

She sails mosquitoes — leeches perched on 
wings — 

To poison him with blood-devouring 
stings ; 

She loves her ague-muscle to display, 

And shakes him up, — say every other 
day; 

With thoughtful, conscientions care she 
makes 

Those travelin' poison-bottles — rattle- 
snakes; 

She finds time, 'mongst her other family 
cares, 

To keep in stock good wild-cats, wolves, 
and bears; 

She spurns his offered hand with silent 
gibes, 

And compromises with the Indian tribes. 

(For they who've wrestled with his 
bloody art 



Say Nature always takes an Indian's 

part). 
In short, her toil is every day increased 
To scare him out and hustle him back 

East; 
Till fin'lly it appears to her some day 
That he has made arrangements for to 

stay; 
Then she turns round, as sweet as any- 
thing, 
And takes her new-made friend into the 

ring, 
And changes from a snarl into a purr — 
From mother-in-law to mother, as it 
were. 

Well, when I first infested this retreat, 

Things to my view looked frightful in- 
complete; 

But Nature seemed quite cheerful all 
about me, 

A-carrying on her different trades with- 
out me. 

These words the forest seemed at me to 
throw: 

"Sit down and rest awhile before you 
go;" 

From bees toil, trees the whole woods 
seemed to say, 

" You 're welcome here till you can get 
away, 

"But not for time of any large amount; 

"So don't be hanging round on our ac- 
count." 

But I had come with heart-thrift in my 
song, 

And brought my wife^and plunder right 
along; 

I had n't a round-trip ticket to go back, 

And if I had there wasn't no railroad 
track; 

And drivin' East was what I couldn't en- 
dure: 

I had n't started on a circular tour. 

My girl-wife was as brave as she was 
good, 

And helped me every blessed way she 
could; 

She seemed to take to every rough old 
tree, 

As sing'lar as when first she took to me. 

She kep' our little log-house neat as wax 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




And once I caught her fooling with my 

axe. 
She learned a hundred masculine things 

to do: 
She aimed a shot-gun pretty middlin' 

true, 
Although, in spite of my express desire, 
She always shut her eyes before she 'd 

fire. 
She hadn't muscle (though she had the 

heart) 
In out-door work to take an active part; 
Though in our firm of Duty and En- 
deavor 
She wasn't no silent partner whatsoever. 
When I was logging, burning, choppin' 

wood, 
She 'd linger round and help me all she 

could, 
And kept me fresh-ambitious all the 

while, 
And lifted tons just with her voice and 

smile. 
With no desire my glory for to rob, 
She used to stan' around and boss the 

job; 
And when first-class success my hands 

befell, 
Would proudly say, "We did that pretty 

well!" 
She was delicious both to hear and see — 
That pretty wife-girl that kep' house for 

me. 

Sundays, we didn't propose, for lack o' 

church, 
To have our souls left wholly in the 

lurch, 
And so I shaved and dressed up well 's I 

could, 
And did a day's work trying to be good. 
My wife was always band-box sleek; and 

when 
Our fat old bull's eye watch said half- 
past ten 
('Twas always varying from the narrow 

way, 
And lied on Sundays same as any day), 
(The family Bible from its high perch 

started 
The one her mother gave her when they 

parted), 



The hymn-book, full of music-balm and 

fire ' 
(The one she used to sing from in the 

choir) — 
One I sang with her from (I've got it 

yet) 

The very first time that we really met — 
(I recollect, when first our voices gibed, 
A feeling that declines to be described; 
And when our eyes met — near the second 

verse — 
A kind of old-acquaintance look in hers, 
And something went from mine, which, 

I declare, 
I never even knew before was there; 
And when our hands touched — flight as 

slight could be — 
A streak o' sweetened lightnin' thrilled 

through me! 
But that's enough of that; perhaps, even 

now, 
You '11 think I'm softer than the law '11 

allow; 
But you '11 protect an old man with his 

age, 
For yesterday I turned my eightieth page; 
Besides there 'd be less couples falling 

out 
If such things were more freely talked 

about. ) 

Well, we would take these books, sit 

down alone, 
And have a two-horse meeting all our 

own, 
And read our verses, sing our sacred 

rhymes, 
And make it seem a good deal like old 

times. 
And finally across her face there 'd glide 
A sort of sorry shadow from inside; 
And once she dropped her head, like a 

tired flower, 
Upon my arm, and cried a half an hour. 
I humored her until she had it out, 
And didn't ask her what it was about. 
I knew quite well: our reading, song, and 

prayer 
Had brought the old times back too true 

and square. 
The large attended meetings day and 

night; 




408 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P\ 






The spiritual and mental warmth and 

light; 
Her father in his pew, next to the aisle: 
Her mother, with the mother of her 

smile. 
Her brothers' sly forbidden Sunday glee; 
Her sisters, e'en-a'-most as sweet as she; 
Her girl and boy friends, not too warm 

or cool; 
Her little scrub class in the Sunday- 
school; 
The social, and the singings, and the ball; 
And happy home-cheer waiting for them 

all — 
These marched in close procession 

through her mind 
And didn't forget to leave their tracks 

behind. 
You married men — there 's many in my 

view — 
Don't think your wife can all wrap up in 

you; 
Don't deem, though close her life to yours 

may grow, 
That you are all the folks she wants to 

know; 
Or think your stitches form the only 

part 
Of the crochet-work of a woman's heart. 
Though married souls each other's lives 

may burnish, 
Each needs some health the other cannot 

furnish. 

Well, neighborhoods meant counties in 

those days; 
The roads didn't have accomodating ways; 
And maybe weeks would pass before 

she 'd see — 
And much less talk with — any one but 

me. 
The Indians sometimes showed their sun- 
baked faces, 
But they didn't teem with conversational 

graces ; 
Some ideas from the birds and trees she 

stole, 
But 'twasn't like talking with a human 

soul; 
And finally I thought that 1 could trace 
A half heart-hunger peering from her 

face. 



Then she would drive it back and. shut 
the door; 

Of course that only made me see it more. 

'Twas hard to see her give her life to 
mine, 

Making a steady effort not to pine; 

'Twas hard to hear that laugh bloom out 
each minute, 

And recognize the seeds of sorrow in it. 

No misery makes a close observer mourn 

Like hopeless grief with hopeful courage 
borne; 

There 's nothing sets the sympathies to 
paining 

Like a complaining woman uncomplain- 
ing. 

It always draws my breath out into sighs 

To see a brave look in a woman's eyes. 

Well, she went on, as plucky as could 

be, 
Fighting the foe she thought I did not 

see, 
And using her heart-horticultural powers 
To turn that forest to a bed of flowers. 
You cannot check an unadmitted sigh, 
And so T had to sooth her on the sly, 
And secretly to help her draw her load; 
Hard work bears hard upon the average 

pulse, 
Even with satisfactory results; 
But when effects are scarce, the heavy 

strain 
Falls dead and solid on the heart and 

brain. 
And when we 're bothered, it will oft oc- 
cur 
We seek blame-timber; and I lit on her; 
And looked on her with daily lessening 

favor, 
For what I knew she could n't help, to 

save her. 
(We often — what our minds should 

blush with shame for — 
Blame people most for what they 're least 

to blame for.) 
Then there 'd a misty, jealous thought 

occur 
Because I wasn't Earth and Heaven to 

her, 
And all the planets that about us hovered 

■ $4 



*v 



8 



A BOOK OF l'OEMS 




And several more that hadn't been dis- 
covered; 

And my hard muscle-labor day by day, 

Deprived good-nature of its right of way; 

And 'taint no use this trying to conceal 

From hearts that love us what our own 
hearts feel; 

The} 7 can 't escape close observation's 
mesh, 

And thoughts have tongues that are not 
made of flesh. 

And so ere long she caught the half- 
grown fact: 

Commenced observing how I didn't act. 

And silently began to grieve and doubt 

O'er old attentions now sometimes left 
out — 

Some kind caress, some little petting 
ways; 

Commenced a-staying in on rainy days 

(I did not see 't so clear then, I '11 allow 

But I can trace it rather acc'rate now); 

And Discord, when he once had called 
and seen us, 

Came round quite often, and edged in be- 
tween us. 

One night, when I came home unusual 
late, 

Too hungry and too tired to feel first- 
rate, 

Her supper struck me wrong (though I '11 
allow 

She hadn't much to strike with anyhow) 

And when I went to milk the cows, and 
found 

They 'd wandered from their usual feed- 
ing-ground 

And maybe 'd left a few long miles be- 
hind 'em, 

Which I must copy, if I meant to find 
'em. 

Flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper 
broke, 

And in a trice these hot words I had 
spoke: 

" You ought to 've kept the animals in 
view, 

And drove 'em in; you 'd nothing else to 
do. 

" The beft of all our life on me must fall; 

" You just lie round, and let me do it all." 



That speech — it hadn't been gone a 
half a minute 

Before I saw the cold black poison in it; 

And I 'd have given all I had and more, 

To've only safely got it back in-door. 

I 'm now what most of folks " well-to-do" 
would call: 

I feel to-day as if I 'd give it all, 

Provided I through fifty years might 
reach 

And kill and bury that half-minute 
speech. 

Boys flying kites haul in their white- 
winged birds; 

You can't do that way when you 're fly- 
ing words. 

Things that we think, may sometimes 
fall back dead, 

But Grod himself can't kill them when 
they're said. 
She handed back no words as I could 
hear; 

She didn't frown; she didn't shed a 
tear; 

Half proud, half crushed, she stood and 
looked me o'er, 

Like some one she had never seen before! 

But such a sudden anguish-lit surprise 

I never viewed before in human eyes. 

(I've seen it oft enough since in a dream; 

It sometimes wakes me like a midnight 
scream. ) 

That night, while theoretically sleep- 
ing, 
I half heard and half felt that she was 

weeping, 
And my heart then projected a design 
To softly draw her face up close to mine, 
And beg of her forgiveness to bestow 
For saying what we both knew was n't 

so. 
I 've got enough of this world's goods to 

do me, 
And make my nephews painfully civil to 

me; 
I 'd give it all to know she only knew 
How near I came to what was square and 

true. 
But, somehow, every single time I 'd try, 
Pride would appear, and kind o' catch my 

eye, 






410 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP 



And hold me on the edge of my advance, 
With the cold steel of one sly scornful 
glance. 

Next morning, when, stone faced, but 
heavy-hearted, 
With dinner-pail and sharpened axe I 

started 
Away for my day's work — she watched 

the door, 
And followed me half way to it or more; 
And I was just a-turning round at this, 
And asking for my usual good-by kiss; 
But on her lip I saw a proudish curve, 
And in her eye a shadow of reserve; 
And she had shown — perhaps half un- 
awares — 
Some little independent breakfast airs — 
And so the usual parting didn't occur, 
Although her eyes incited me to her; 
Or rather half invited me, for she 
Didn't advertise to furnish' kisses free; 
You always had — that is, I had — to pay 
Full market price, and go more'n half 

the way. 
So, with a short " Good-by," I shut the 

door, 
And left her as I never had before. 

Now when a man works with his 

muscles smartly, 
It makes him into machinery partly; 
And any trouble he may have on hand 
Gets deadened like, and easier to stand. 
And though the memory of last night's 

mistake 
Bothered me with a dull and heavy ache, 
I all the forenoon gave my strength full 

rein, 
And made the wounded trees bear ha f 

the pain. 
But when at noon my lunch I came to 

eat, 
Put up by her so delicately neat — 
Choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had 

been, 
And some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she 'd 

put in — 
"Tender and pleasant thoughts," I knew 

they meant — 
It seemed as if her kiss with me she 'd 

sent; 
-P 



Then I became once more her humble 

lover, 
And said, " To-night I '11 ask forgiveness 

of her." 

I went home over-early on that eve, 

Having contrived to make myself be- 
lieve, 

By various signs I kind o' knew and 
guessed, 

A thunder-storm was coming from the 
west, 

('Tis strange, when one sly reason fills 
the heart, 

How many honest ones will take its part: 

A dozen first-class reasons said 'twas 
right 

That I should strike home early on that 
night.) 

Half out of breath, the cabin door I 

swung, 
With tender heart-words trembling on 

my tongue; 
But all within looked desolate and bare; 
My house had lost its soul — she was not 

there ! 
A penciled note was on the table spread, 
And these are something like the words 

it said : 
"The cows have strayed away again I 

fear; 
"I watched them pretty close; don't 

scold me, dear. 
"And where they are I think I nearly 

know: 
" heard the bell not very long ago. 
" I 've hunted for them all the afternoon; 
"I'll try once more — I think I'll find 

them soon. 
"Dear, if a burden I have been to you, 
"And hav n't helped you as I ought to do, 
"Let old-time memories my forgiveness 

plead; 
"I've tried to do my best — I have in- 
deed. 
" Darling, piece out with love the strength 

I lack, 
"And have kind words for me when I get 

back." 









A BOOK OF POEMS 



411 



6 



Scarce did I give this letter sight and 

tongue — 
Some swift-blown rain-drops to the win- 
dow clung, 
And from the clouds a rough, deep, growl 

proceeded : 
My thunder-storm had come, now 

't wasn't needed. 
I rushed out-door. The air was stained 

with black: 
Night had come early on the storm- 
cloud's back; 
And everything kept dimming to the 

sight, 
Save when the clouds threw their electric 

light; 
When, for a flash, so clean-cut was the 

view, 
I 'd think I saw her — knowing 't was not 

true. 
Through my small clearing dashed wide 

sheets of spray, 
As if the ocean waves had lost their way; 
Scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made, 
In the bold clamor of its cannonade. 
And she, while I was sheltered, dry, and 

warm, 
Was somewhere in the clutches of this 

storm ! 
She who, when storm-frights found her 

at her best, 
Had always hid her white face on my 

breast. 
My dog, who 'd skirmished round me 

all the day, 
Now crouched and whimpering in a cor- 
ner lay; 
I dragged him by the collar to the wall, 
I pressed his quivering muzzle to a 

shawl — 
"Track her, old boy!" I shouted; and he 

whined, 
Matched eyes with me as if to read my 

mind, 
Then with a yell went tearing through 

the wood. 
I followed him as faithful as I could. 
No pleasure-trip was that through flood 

and flame; 
We raced with death; we hunted noble 

game. 

IrP 



Vv 



All night we dragged the woods without 

avail ; 
The ground got drenched — we could 

not keep the trail. 
Three times again my cabin home I 

found, 
Half hoping she might be there, safe and 

sound; 
But each time 'twas an unavailing care; 
My house had lost its soul: she was not 

there ! 

When, climbing the wet trees, next 
morning-sun 

Laughed at the ruin that the night had 
done, 

Bleeding and drenched, by toil and sor- 
row bent, 

Back to what used to be my home I went. 

But as I neared our little clearing- 
ground — 

Listen ! — I heard the cow-bell's tinkling 
sound. 

The cabin door was just a bit ajar; 

It gleamed upon my glad eyes like a star. 

"Brave heart," I said, "for such a fragile 
form! 

" She made them guide her homeward 
through the storm! " 

Such pangs of joy I never felt before. 

"You've come!" I shouted, and rushed 
through the door. 

Yes, she had come — and gone again. 

She lay 
With all her young life crushed and 

wrenched away — 
Lay, the heart-ruins of our home among, 
Not far from where I killed her with my 

tongue. 
The rain-drops glittered 'mid her hair's 

long strands, 
The forest thorns had torn her feet and 

hands, 
And 'midst the tears — brave tears — 

that one could trace 
Upon the pale but sweetly resolute face, 
I once again the mournful words could 

read, 
" I 've tried to do my best — I have, in- 
deed." 




412 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






And now I 'm mostly done, my story 's 

o'er; 
Part of it never breathed the air before. 
'Tisn't over-usual, it must be allowed, 
To volunteer heart-history to a crowd, 
And scatter 'mougst them confidential 

tears, 
But you '11 protect an old man with his 

years; 
And wheresoe'er this story's voice can 

reach, 
This is the sermon I would have it 

preach : 

Boys flying kites haul in their white- 
winged birds: 

You can't do that way when you 're fly- 
ing words. 

" Careful with fire," is good advice we 
know: 

" Careful with words," is ten times 
doubly so. 

Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes 
fall back dead, 

But Cod himself can't killthem when 
they 're said ! 

You have my life-grief: do not think a 
minute 

'Twas told to take up time. There 's 
business in it. 

It sheds advice. Whoe'er will take and 
live it, 
s welcome to the pain it costs to give it. 



GIVE THAT PLACE TO ME. 

You, worthy man, whose noble life com- 
mends 

Your generous heart, and gives you many 
friends, 

If in your breast a place there yet may be 

For one friend more, oh, give that place 
to me. 




IS LIFE WORTH LIVING ? 

Is life worth living? — Well, to tell you 

true, 
It scarcely is, if all men were like you. 



THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS. 

You 've heard of the snake in the grass, 
my lad, 
Of the viper concealed in the grass; 
But now, you must know, 
Man's deadliest foe 
Is a snake of a different class; 
Alas! — 
'Tis the viper that lurks in the glass! 



DESTINY. 



The tissues of the life to be 

We weave with colors all our own, 

And in the field of Destiny 
We reap as we have sown. 

We ourselves shape the joys and fears 
Of which the life to come is made, 

And fill our future atmosphere 
With sunshine or with shade. 

The massive gates of circumstance 
Are turned upon the slightest hinge, 

And thus some seeming pettiest chance 
Oft gives the life its after tinge. 



A WISH. 



May you live in bliss, from sorrow alway, 
Have plenty of cash for a rainy day, 
And when you are ready to settle in life, 
May you get a good husband, and make a 
good wife. 



THE PRAYER OF PLATO. 

I pray the prayer of Plato old : 
God make thee beautiful within, 

And let thine eye the good behold 
In everything but sin. 



JEWELS. 



As jewels encased in a casket of gold, 
Where the richest of treasure we hide, 

So our purest of thoughts lie deep and 
untold, 
Like the gems that are under the tide. ' 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



413 






IF YOU EVER SHOULD MARRY. 
ADVICE. 

If you ever should marry, remember to 

wed 
A handsome, plump, modest, sweet-spoken, 

well-bred, 
And sensible maiden of twenty, — instead 
Of a widow whose husband is recently 

dead. 

Young gentlemen, pray recollect, if you 

can, 
To give a wide berth to a meddlesome 

man; 
And horsewhip the knave who would 

poison your life 
By breeding distrust between you and 

your wife. 

Young ladies, beware of hasty connec- 
tions, 

And do n't marry suitors with swarthy 
complexions; 

For though they may chance to be capi- 
tal fellows, 

Depend upon it, they're apt to be jealous. 



BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. A 
GREAT LESSON. 

For Scotland and for freedom's right 

The Bruce his part had played, 
In five successive fields of fight 

Been conquered and dismayed; 
Once more against the English host 
His band he led, and once more lost 

The meed for which he fought; 
And now from battle faint and worn, 
The homeless fugitive forlorn 

A hut's lone shelter sought. 

And cheerless was that resting-place 
For him who claimed a throne: 

His canopy, devoid of grace, 
The rude, rough beams alone; 

The heather couch his only bed, — 

Yet well I ween had slumber fled 
From couch of eider-down! 

Through darksome night till dawn of day, 
[f Scotland and her crown. 




The sun rose brightly, and its gleam 

Fell on that hapless bed, 
And tinged with light each shapeless beam 

Which roofed the lowly shed; 
When, looking up with wistful eye, 
The Bruce beheld a spider try 

His filmy thread to fling 
From beam to beam of that rude cot; 
And well the insect's toilsome lot 

Taught Scotland's future king. 

Six times a gossamery thread 

The wary spider threw; 
In vain the filmy line was sped, 

For powerless or untrue 
Each aim appeared and back recoiled, 
The patient insect six times foiled, 

And yet unconquered still; 
And soon the Bruce with eager eye, 
Saw him prepare once more to try 

His courage, strength, and skill. 

One effort more, his seventh and last! 

The hero hailed the sign! 
And on the wished-for beam hung fast 

That slender, silken line; 
Slight as it was his spirit caught 
The more than omen, for his thought 

The lesson well could trace, 
Which even "He who runs may read," 
That perseverence gains its meed, 

And patience wins the race. 



ELEONORA. 



Had she been first, still Paradise had been, 
And death had found no entrance by her 

sin, 
So she not only had preserved from ill 
Her sex and ours, but lived their pattern 

still. 



ABSENCE. 



Absent from thee, beloved, I am pent 

In utter solitude, where'er I be; 
My wonted pleasures give me small con- 
tent, 
Wanting the highest, — to be shared by 
thee. 



w 



414 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




SWEET WERE HIS WORDS. 

Sweet were his words when last we met; 

My passion I as freely told him ! 
Clasped in his arms, I little thought 

That I should never more behold him. 



0, MAIDEN DEA.R. 

0, maideu dear, thyself prepare, 

We soon shall meet upon that shore, 

Where love is free from doubt and care. 
And thou and I shall part no more. 



A WEIGH. 



She entered the store with a charming 
smile, 

And said to the clerk: " 0, Charlie, say, 
Have you a moment to spare for me 

And let me know how much I weigh?" 

" One-thirty is what the figures say." 
" How heavy I am ! Assist me, please." 

And the grocer saw with his weather eye 
The young man give her a gentle 
squeeze. 

"Who was the girl?" asked the grocer- 
man. 
For a moment the young man answered 
not; 
Then he softly said in a bashful voice, 
"0, that is the weigh I long have 
sought." 



IN LIVING VIRTUE. 

Why should this worthless tegument en- 
dure 
If 4ts undying guest be lost forever? 

0, let us keep the soul embalmed and 
pure 
In living virtue, — that when both must 
sever, 

Although corruption may our frame con- 
sume, 

The immortal spirit in the skies may 
bloom! 



LOVELY THAIS. 

War, we know, is toil and trouble; 
Honor, but an empty bubble; 

Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still and still destroying: 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, 0, think it worth enjoying! 
When lovely Thais sits beside thee, 
Then take the good the gods provide thee. 



GIVE HIM A LIFT. 

Better give a poor devil a lift while he 's 

here, 
Than wait till he 's passed in his checks 

over there. 



LAY OF A DAIRY-MAID. 

The dairy-maid pensively milked the goat, 
And pouting, she paused to mutter, 

u I wish, you brute, you would turn to 
milk!" 
But the animal turned to but-her. 



TO LURA 



Let not the hours we 've spent together, 

Go past as nothing by; 
Forget me not, e'en though you must 

Remember with a sigh. 



HOW DEAR. 



never can we know how dear 

Each loved one is, till we have known 

The deep regret, the bitter tear, 

That comes when those we love are 
gone. 



GIRLS. 



To knit and spin, her bread to win, 
Was once a girl's employment, 

But now to dress and have a beau 
Seems all a girl's enjoyment. 



^ 



r* 



Q 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




i 



LOVE AND LAW. 

Jack Newman was in love; a common 

case 
With boys just verging upon manhood's 

prime, 
When every damsel with a pretty face 
Seems some bright creature from a 

purer clime, 
Sent by the gods to bless a country 

town, — 
A pink-cheeked angel in a muslin gown. 

Jack was in love; and also much in doubt 
(As thoughtful lovers oft have been 
before ) 
If it were better to be in or out. 

Such pain alloyed his bliss. On rea- 
son's score, 
Perhaps 't is equally a sin to get 
Too deep in love, in liquor, or in debt. 

The lady of his love, Miss Mary Blank 
(I call her so to hide her real name), 
Was fair and twenty, and in social 
rank — 
That is, in riches — much above her 
flame; 
The daughter of a person who had tin 
Already won; while Jack had his to win. 

Her father was a lawyer; rather rusty 
In legal lore, but one who well had 

striven 
In former days to swell his " res augustce" 
To broad possessions; and, in short, had 

thriven 
Bravely in his vocation; though, the fact 

is, 
More by his "practices" ('twas said) 

than practice! 

A famous man was Blank for sound ad- 
vice 
In doubtful cases; for example, where 
The point in question is extremely nice, 
And turns upon the section of a hair; 
Or where — which seems a very common 

pother — 
Justice looks one way, and the law 
another. 



n 



Great was his skill to make or mar a plot; 

To prop, at need, a rotten reputation, 
Or undermine a good one; he had got 

By heart a subtile science of evasion, 
And knew the useful art to pick a flaw 
Through which a rascal might escape the 
law. 

Jack was his pupil; and 'tis rather queer 
So shrewd a counselor did not discover, 
With all his cunning both of eye and ear, 
That this same pupil was his daugh- 
ter's lover; 
And — what would much have shocked 

his legal tutor — 
Was even now the girl's accepted suitor! 

Fearing a non-suit, if the lawyer knew 
The case too soon, Jack kept it to him- 
self; 

And, stranger still, the lady kept it too; 
For well he knew the father's pride of 
pelf, 

Should e'en a bare suspicion cross his 
mind, 

Would soon abate the action they de- 
signed. 

For Jack was impecunious; and Blank 
Had small regard for people who were 

poor; 
Riches to him were beauty, grace, and 

rank: i 
In short, the man was one of manv 

more 
Who worship money-bags and those who 

own 'em, 
And think a handsome sum the summum 

bonicm. 

I 'm fond of civil words, and do not wish 
To be satirical; but none despise 

The poor so truly as the nouveaux riche; 
And here, no doubt, the real reason lies, 

That being over-proud of what they are, 

They 're naturally ashamed of what they 
were. 

Certain to meet the father's cold negation, 
Jack dare not ask him for his daugh- 
ter's hand. 

What should he do? 'Twas surely an 
occasion 




'ItZ 



416 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(PS 



For all the wit a lover might command; 
At last he chose (it seemed his only hope) 
That final card of Cupid, — to elope! 

A pretty plan to please a penny-a-liner; 
But far less pleasant for the leading 
factor, 

Should the fair maiden chance to be a 
minor 
(Whom the law reckons an unwilling 
actor); 

And here Jack found a rather sad obstruc- 
tion, — 

He might be caught and punished for 
abduction. 

What could he do? Well, — here is what 

he did: 
As a " moot case " to Lawyer Blank he 

told 
The whole affair, save that the names 

were hid. 
I can't help thinking that it was rather 

bold, 
But love is partial to heroic schemes, 
And often proves much wiser than he 

seems. 

" The thing is safe enough, with proper 

care,' 1 
Observed the lawyer, smiling. "Here 's 

your course: — 
Just let the lady manage the affair 

Throughout; Videlicet, she gets the 

horse, 
And mounts him, unassisted, first; but 

mind, 
The woman sits before, and you, behind! 

" Then who is the abductor? — Just sup- 
pose 
A court and jury looking at the case; 

What ground of action do the facts dis- 
close ? 
They find a horse, — two riders, — and 
a race, — 

And you 'Not guilty; 1 for 'tis clearly 
true 

The dashing damsel ran away with you ! " 



'k? 



These social sins are often rather grave; 
I give such deeds no countenance of 

mine; 
Nor can 1 say the father e'er forgave; 
But that was surely a propitious 

"sign," 
On which (in after years) the words I 

saw 
Were, " Blank & Newman, Counselors at 

Law!" 



TASTE. 



Across the room — to please a daintier 

taste — 
A slender damsel flits with fairy tread; 
A lover's . hand might span her little 

waist, 
If so inclined — that is, if they were 

wed. 
Some youths admire those fragile forms, 

I 've heard; 
I never saw the man, upon my word! 



DON'T SEARCH FOR AN ANGEL. 

Do n't search for "an angel" a minute; 

For, granting you win the sequel, 
The deuce, after all, would be in it, 

With a union so very unequal ! 

The angels, it must be confessed, 
In this world are rather uncommon; 

And allow me, dear Charles, to suggest, 
You '11 be better content with a woman! 



RECOLLECTION OF FRIENDS. 

If recollections of friends brighten mo- 
ments of sadness, 
What a fund of delight is here treas- 
ured for thee! 
If advice and kind wishes bring goodness 
and gladness, 
How perfect and happy thy future 
must be. 







'!K? 






CO 

c 

S 
m 

3D 
D 

< 

I- 




\tf 



27 






•J 



m> 



418 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






BEWARE. 

Beware of men! a moralist might say, 
And women, too: 't were but a prudent 
hint, 

Well worth observing in a general way; 
But having surely no conclusion in 't 

(As saucy satirists are wont to rail), 

All men are faithless, and all women frail. 



MAY YOU. 



May you ne'er get in love or in debt, with 

a doubt 
As to whether or no you will ever get 

out; 
May you ne'er have a mistress who plays 

the coquette, 
Or a neighbor who blows on a cracked 

clarionette; 
May you learn the first use of a lock on 

your door, 
And ne'er, like Adonis, be killed by a 

bore; 
At jovial parties mind what you are at, 
Beware of your head and take care of 

your hat, 
Lest you find that a favorite son of your 

mother 
Has a brick in the one and an ache in the 

other. 



May you never, I pray, to worry your life, 

Have a weak-minded friend, or a strong- 
minded wife; 

A tailor distrustful, or partner suspicious; 

A dog that is rabid, a horse that is vicious; 

Above all — the chief blessings that gods 
can impart — 

May you keep a clear head and a gener- 
ous heart; 

Remember, 'tis blessed to give and for- 
give; 

Live chiefly to love, and love while you 
live, 

And dying, when life's little journey is 
done, 

May your last, fondest sigh be " The vic- 
^> n tory 's won." 



MOTHERS-IN-LAW. 

If you ever should marry, said Major 

McGarth, 
While smoking a pipe by my bachelor 

hearth, 
If you ever should wed, — and I would n't 

employ 
A word to prevent it, my broth of a boy, — 
Remember that wedlock 's a company 

where 
The parties quite often are more than a 

pair; 
'T is a lott'ry in which you are certain to 

draw 
A wife, and, most likely, a mother-in- 
law. 

What the latter may be, all conjecture 
defies; 

She is never a blank, she is seldom a 
prize; 

And so, when you marry, go take you a 
maid 

(Of widows, my boy, I am always afraid) 

Who gives you — the darling! — her hand 
and her love, 

With a sigh for her "dear sainted moth- 
er" above! 

From which the conclusion you safely 
may draw, 

You will never' be ruled by a mother-in- 
law! 



MY MARY 



Thy indistinct expressions seem 
Like language uttered in a dream: 
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
My Mary! 

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
Are still more lovely in my sight 
Than golden beams of orient light, 
My Mary! 

For could I view nor them nor thee, 
What sight worth seeing could I see? 
The sun would rise in vain for me, 
My Mary! 



TS 33£ 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



419 



& 



THE VALEDICTORY. 

Farewell, false hearts; whose best affec- 
tions fail, 

Like shallow brooks which summer suns 
exbale! 

Forgetful of the man whom one ye chose, 

Cold in his cause, and careless of his 
woes; 

I bid you both a long and last adieu! 

Cold in my turn, and unconcerned like 
you. 



THE GUIDE-POST. 

D'ye know the road to th' bar'l o' flour? 

At break o' day let down the bars, 
And plow your wheat-field hour by hour, 

Till sun-down — yes, till shine of stars. 

You peg away the live-long day, 
Nor loaf about, nor gape around: 

And that 's the road to the threshin' floor, 
And into the kitchen, I'll be bound! 

D'ye know the road where the dollars 
ai - e? 

Follow the red cents here and there; 
For, if a man leaves them, I guess 

He won't find dollars anywhere. 

D'ye know the road to Sunday's rest? 

Just do n't of week days be afeered; 
In field and workshop do y'r best, 

And Sunday comes itself, I 've heer'd. 

D'ye know what road to honor leads? 

And good old age — a lovely sight! 
By way o' temperance, honest deeds, 

And tryin' to do y'r dooty right. 

And when the road forks airy side, 
And you 're in doubt which one it is, 

Stand still and let y'r conscience guide; 
Thank God, it can't lead much amiss! 

Go, fearin' God, but lovin' more! 

I 've tried to be an honest guide. 
You find the grave has got a door, 

And somethin' for you t' other side. 



THE SILVER WEDDING. 

"A wedding of silver! — and what shall 
we do?" 
I said in response to my excellent 
spouse, 
Who hinted, this morning, we ought to 
renew 
According to custom, our conjugal 
vows. 

"I would n't much mind it, now — if — 
and suppose — 
The bride were a blooming — Ah! well 
— on my life, 
I think — to be candid — (don't turn up 
your nose!) 
That every wedding should bring a new 
wife!" 

"And what if it should? " was the laugh- 
ing reply; 
" Do you think, my dear John, you 
could ever obtain 
Another so fond and so faithful as I, 
Should you purchase a wig, and go 
courting again? " 

"Ah! darling," I answered, u 't is just as 
you say; " 
And clasping a waist rather shapely 
than small, 
I kissed the dear girl in so ardent a way 
You would n't have guessed we were 
married at all! 

My wedding day, Doctor, is also your 



own 



And so I send greeting to bridegroom 
and bride, — 
The latter a wife good as ever was known; 
The former well worthy her homage 
and pride. 

God bless your new nuptials ! — Still 
happy at home, 
May you both grow serenely and grace- 
fully old; 
And, till the auriferous wedding shall 
come, 
Find the years that are past were as 
silver to gold! 



3 




420 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



3 



WHEN WE MEET AGAIN. 

'Tis all a dream ! it cannot be 
That I, my love, must part from thee! 
For lost would be life's brightest star 
With thou, so dear, from me afar, 
And yet, alas! no dream it is, 

Our sky of love is overcast, 
But, parting, let me murmur this — 

"I'll love thee, love thee to the last!" 

It may be soon, it may be late, 
But I shall fondly trust and wait, 
For love, so staunch and true as ours, 
Is not to die like summer flow'rs! 
We know not when, ah me! ah me! 

A meeting-place will time allow, 
But this I know, whene'er it be, 

I still shall love thee then as now! 



mcP 



HAVE YOU FORGOT? 

Have you forgot that long-gone summer 
day; 
The clear blue sky with scarce a cloud 
o'erhead; 
The many children shouting at their 
play; 
The gnarled old ash; the sweet, sweet 
words you said — 

Have you forgot? 

Have you forgot what bliss it was to 
love, 
To utter vows time never has undone? 
How all the day we hand in hand did 
rove, 
And when 'twas ended wished it just 
begun — 

Have you forgot? 

Have you forgot that glowing summer 
eve — 
The rose and oleander were in bloom — 
You stooped and kissed me as you took 
your leave 
And I blushed rosy in the twilight 
gloom — 

Have you forgot? 



Have you forgot the bitter, bitter pain, 
The dull despair, the heavy aching 
heart 
When we were parted not to meet again, 
And worse than distance kept us far 
apart — 

Have you forgot? 

And now, when twilight trembles 
through the skies, 
I sit and muse on all the words you 
said, 
The love that glowed within your grave, 
calm eyes, 
And wonder can that strong deep love 
be dead, 

And I forgot. 



A QUESTION. 

Whence comes it then, that in the wane 

of life, 
Though nothing hath occurr'd to kindle 

strife, 
We find the friends we fancied we had 

won, 
Though numerous once, reduced to few 

or none? 



ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH. 

Poor in my youth, and in life's later 
scenes 
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour, 
Who nought enjoyed when young, de- 
nied the means, 
And nought when old enjoyed, denied 
the power. 



RICH. INCONSTANCY. 

Rich, thou hadst many lovers — poor, 

hast none, 

So surely want extinguishes the flame, 

And she who called thee once her pretty 

one, 

And her Adonis, now inquires thy 

name. 



"hS. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



4 



421 



THE PROXY SAINT. 

Each for himself must do his Master's 
work, 
Or at his peril leave it all undone; 
Witness the fate of one who sought to 
shirk 
The sanctuary's service, yet would shun 
The penalty. A man of earthly aims 
(So runs the apologue), whose pious 
spouse 
Would oft remind him of the church's 
claims, 
Still answered thus, " Go thou and pay 
our vows 
For thee and me." Now, when at Peter's 
gate 
The twain together had arrived at last, 
He let the woman in; then to her mate, 
Shutting the door, " Thou hast already 
passed 
By proxy," said the saint,—" just in the 
way 
That thou on earth wast wont to fast 
and pray." 



6-> 



WHEN I MEAN TO MARRY. 

When do I mean to marry? — Well, 
'T is idle to dispute with fate; 

But if you choose to hear me tell, 
Pray listen while I fix the date. 

When daughters haste, with eager feet, 
A mother's daily toil to share; 

Can make the puddings which they eat, 
And mend the stockings which they 
wear; 

When maidens look upon a man 
As in himself what they would marry, 

And not as army soldiers scan 
A sutler or a commissary; 

When gentle ladies, who have got 

The offer of a lover's hand, 
Consent to share his earthly lot, 

And do not mean his lot of land; 

When young mechanics are allowed 
To find and wed the farmers' girls 

Who don't expect to be endowed 
With rubies, diamonds, and pearls; 



When wives, in short, shall freely give 
Their hearts and hands to aid their 
spouses, 

And live as they were wont to live 
Within their sires' one-story houses; 

Then, madam, — if I 'm not too old, — 
Rejoiced to quit this lonely life, 

I'll brush my beaver; cease to scold; 
And look about me for a wife! 



TEACH US TO WAIT. 

Why are we so impatient of delay, 
Longing forever for the time to be? 

For thus we live to-morrows in to-day, 
Yea, sad to-morrows we may never see. 

We are too hasty; are not reconciled 
To let kind nature do her work alone; 

We plant our seed, and like a foolish 
child 
We dig it up to see if it has grown. 

The good that is to be, we covet now, 

We cannot wait for the appointed hour; 
Before the fruit is ripe, we shake the 
bough, 
And seize the bud that folds away the 
flower. 



SO LIVE. 



So live, that when thy summons comes to 

join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realm of shade, where each 

shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at 

night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained 

and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy 

grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his 

couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant 

dreams. 



%k 



-VJc^-s- 



% 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






ON A COXCOMB. 

Your nose and eyes your father gave, you 
say; 
Your mouth, your grandsire; and your 
mother meek, 
Your fine expression. Tell me, now I 
pray, 
Where, in the name of heaven, you got 
your cheek! 



THE CADI'S STRATAGEM. 

A pious widow's cottage chanced to stand 
Hard by the Calif's palace; and he 
sought, 
For his own use, to buy her bit of land; 
But all in vain, — the land could not be 
bought. 

" It was my husband's home," the woman 
said, 

" Who, dying, left it to his loving wife; 
Here will I dwell, in honor of the dead, 

N or with it part until I part with life ! " 

The haughty Calif's anger knew no 
bound, 
That thus the dame withstood him to 
his face; 
By force he razed her cottage to the 
ground, 
And built a grand pavilion in its place. 

Straight to the Cadi, then, the widow 
goes, 
And asks for justice at his Honor's 
hand: 
"Leave me awhile," the Cadi said, and 
rose; 
"Allah is great, and hears your just 
demand." 

Then with an empty sack he took his 
way 
To the pavilion, where he chanced to 
meet 
The Calif at the door. "Great Sire! I 
pray 
A little of the earth beneath your feet; 



"Enough to till," the Cadi said, "this 
sack." 
"'Tis granted!" said the Calif, laugh- 
ing loud. 
" Now, please to put the load upon my 
back, 
Most potent Prince ! " — and reverently 
bowed. 

" Nay," said the Calif, " I should surely 
fail 
Should I essay to lift a load so great; 
For such a task my strength would not 
avail ; 
A porter would be crushed beneath the 
weight! " 

"Prince of Believers!" said the Cadi, 

then, 

" If this be even so, how wilt thou fare 

In the great day of final judgment, when 

The weight of all this land thou hast 

to bear?" 

The Calif, stricken with remorse, ex- 
claimed, 
"Allah is Allah! — be his name adored! 
For wit and wisdom thou art justly famed; 
This day will see the widow's land re- 
stored; 

"And for the wrong I did the woman's 
land, 
In tearing down her house, 1 thus 
atone: 
This fine pavilion in its place shall stand; 
For, with the soil, the building is her 
own ! " 



kP. 



<\M 



AT THE CONCERT. 

I saw her one night at "The Garden." 

'Twas during the Patti furor; 
She had trod on, but sued for my pardon, 

The glove I had dropped on the floor; 
And so stately she looked, and so queenly, 

My heart with her beauty was won, 
And a blank fell on all, as serenely 

She rose when the music was done. 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



423 



Ah, me! though I am twenty years older, 

And fortune has used me but ill, 
And the world looks both sadder and 
colder, 

I think and I dream of her still; 
And in faith I am true to her only, 

From the many I keep her apart, 
And I look on her face when I 'm lonely. 

From my innermost soul and my heart. 

Though forgotten the Greek and the 
Latin, 

I muttered in times that are gone, 
I remember her dress was of satin, 

The color a delicate fawn; 
I remember, to-day, as completely 

Each trifle my lady did wear, 
E'en the rose that was blushing so sweetly 

Half hid in the glory of hair. 

Ah ! time shall be powerless to laven 

Her life with the ills that we know, 
For her locks shall be dark as the raven 

When mine are as white as the snow; 
And her face shall be young in its beauty, 

When mine shall be wrinkled with 
care — 
With the manifold burdens that duty 

Has set for the wisest to bear. 

And her words, though so long ago 
spoken, 

As freshly shall breathe their surprise; 
And the spell still remain all unbroken 

That flashed from her beautiful eyes; 
And thus, in my joy and my sadness, 

'T will still be delight that I know, 
I shall see her arrayed in her gladness, 
As I saw her that night long ago. 




OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR 
HOUSE. 

Over the hill to the poor-house I 'm 

trudgin' my weary way — 
I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle 

gray — 
I, who am smart and chipper, for all the 

years I Ve told, 
As many another woman that 's only half 

as old. 



Over the hill to the poor-house — I can 't 

quite make it clear! 
Over the hill to the poor-house — it seems 

so horrid queer! 
Many a step I've taken a-toilin 1 to and 

fro, 
But this is a sort of journey I never 

thought to go. 

What is the use of heapin' on me a pau- 
per's shame? 

Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame? 

True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful 
stout; 

But charity ain't no favor if one can live 
without. 

I am willin' and anxious an' ready any 

day 
To work for a decent livin', an' pay my 

honest way: 
For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, 

I'll be bound, 
If any body only is willin' to have me 

round. 

Once I was young an' han'some — I was, 

upon my soul — 
Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes as 

black as coal; 
And I can 't remember, in them days, of 

hearin 1 people say, 
For any kind of a reason, that I was in 

their way. 

'T ain't no use of boastin', or talkin' over 

free, 
But many a house and home was open 

then to me; 
Many a han'some offer I had from likely 

men, 
And nobody ever hinted that I was a 

burden then. 



And when to John I was married, sure he 

was good and smart, 
But he and all the neighbors would own 

I done my part; 
For life was all before me, an' I was 

young an' strong, 
And I worked the best that I could in 

tryin' to get along. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



©15 



And so we worked together; and life was 

hard but gay, 
With now and then a baby for to cheer 

us on our way; 
Till we had half a dozen, an 1 all growed 

clean an' neat, 
An 1 went to school like others, an' had 

enough to eat. 

So we worked for the childr n, and raised 

'em every one; 
Worked for 'em summer an winter, just 

as we ought to've done. 
Only perhaps we humored 'em, which 

some good folks condemn, 
But every couple's childr'n 's a heap the 

best to them. 

Strange how much we think of our blessed 

little ones! — 
I'd have died for my daughters, I 'd have 

died for my sons; 
And God he made the rule of love; but 

when we 're old and gray, 
I've noticed that it sometimes somehow 

fails to work the other way. 

Strange, another thing; when our boys 

an' girls was grown, 
And when, exceptin' Charley, they 'd left 

us there alone, 
When John he nearer an' nearer come, 

an' dearer seemed to be, 
The Lord of Hosts he came one day an' 

took him away from me. 

Still I was bound to struggle, an' never 

cringe or fall — 
Still I worked for Charley, for Charley 

was now my all; 
And Charley was pretty good to me, with 

scarce a word or frown, 
Till Charley went a-courtin', and brought 

a wife from town. 

She was rather dressy, an had n't a pleas- 
ant smile — 

She was quite conceity, and carried a heap 
o' style; 

But if ever I tried to be friends, I did 
with her, I know; 

But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't 



icP 



make it go. 



She had an edication, and that was good 

for her; 
But when she twitted me on mine 'twas 

carry in things too fur; 
An' I told her once 'fore company (an' it 

almost made her sick), 
That I never swallowed a grammar, or 

'et a 'rithmetic. 

So 'twas only a few days before the thing 

was done — 
They was a family of themselves, and I 

another one; 
And a very little cottage one family will 

do, 
But I never have seen a house that was 

big enough for two. 

An' I never could speak to suit her, never 

could please her eye, 
An 1 it made me independent, an' then I 

didn't try; 
But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it 

like a blow, 
When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told 

me I could go. 

I went to live with Susan, but Susan's 

house was small, 
And she was always a-hintin' how snug 

it was for us all; 
And what with her husband's sisters, and 

what with childr'n three, 
'T was easy to discover that there wasn't 

room for me. 

An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest 

son I 've got, 
For Thomas's buildings 'd cover the half 

of an acre lot; 
But all the childr'n was on me — I could n't 

stand their sauce — 
And Thomas said I need n't think I was 

comin' there to boss. 

An' then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who 

lives out West, 
And to Isaac, not far from her — some 

twenty miles at best; 
And one of 'em said 't was too warm there 

for any one so old, 
And t'other had an opinion the climate 

was too cold. 









A BOOK OF POEMS 



425 



(F* 



So they have shirked and slighted me, an' 

shifted me about — 
So they have well nigh soured me, an 1 

wore my old heart out; 
But still I 've borne up pretty well, an' 

wasn't much put down, 
Till Charley went to the poor-master, an 1 

put me on the town. 

Over the hill to the poor-house — my 

childr'n dear, good-by! 
Many a night I 've watched you, when 

only God was nigh; 
And God '11 judge between us; but I will 

al'ays pray 
That you shall never suffer the half I do 

to-day. 



GALILEO IN PRISON. 

Far 'neath the glorious light of the noon- 
tide, 
In a damp dungeon a prisoner lay, 
Aged and feeble, his failing years num- 
bered, 
Waiting the fate to be brought him 
that day. 

Silence, oppressive with darkness, held 
durance — 
Death in the living, or living in death; 
Crouched on the granite, and burdened 
in fetters, 
Inhaling slow poison with each labored 
breath. 

O'er the damp floor of his dungeon there 
glistened 
Faintly the rays of a swift-nearing 
light; 
Then the sweet jingle uf keys that soon 
opened 
The door and revealed a strange scene 
to his sight. 

In the red glare of the sickening torches, 
Held by the grey-gowned soldiers of 
God, 
Gathered a group that the world will re- 
member 
Long ages after we sleep 'neath the sod. 



Draped in their robes of bright scarlet 
and purple, 
Bearing aloft the gold emblems of 
Rome, 
Stood the chief priests of the Papal do- 
minion, 
Under the shadow of Peter's proud 
dome. 

By the infallible pontiff commanded, 
From his own lips their direction re- 
ceived; 
Sent to demand of the wise Galileo 
Denial of all the wise truths he be- 
lieved: 

Before the whole world to give up his 
convictions, 
Because the great church said the world 
had not moved; 
Then to swear before God that his science 
was idle, 
And truth was unknown to the facts 
he had proved. 

So, loosing his shackles, they bade the 
sage listen 
To words from the mouth of the vicar 
of God: 
"Recant thy vile doctrines and life we will 
give thee; 
Adhere, and the road to the grave is 
soon trod!" 

His doctrines — the truth, as proud Rome 
has acknowledged, 
On low-bended knee in that vault he 
renounced; 
Yes, with joy in their eyes, the high 
priests retiring, 
" Confinement for life," as his sentence 
pronounced. 

But, as they left him, their malice re- 
kindled 
Fires that their threats had subdued in 
his breast. 
Clanking his chains, with fierce ardor he 
muttered, 
" But it does move, and tyrants can 
ne'er make it rest." 



<h& 



a& 



426 



A BOOK OF POMS 



cf] 



THE AMERICAN EAGLE. 

Bird of the cliff! thou art soaring on 

high; 
Thou hast swept the dense cloud from 

thy path in the sky; 
Thou hast breasted the storm in thy 

heavenward flight, 
And hVd thy bright eye on the fountain 

of light; 
Thou hast braved the keen flash of the 

lightning in sport, 
And poised thy strong wing where the 

thunders resort; 
Thou hast followed the stars in their 

pathway above, 
And chased the wild meteors wherever 

they rove. 

Bird of the forest! thou lov'st the deep 

shade, 
Where the oak spreads its boughs in the 

mountain and glade; 
Where the thick-cluster 1 d ivy encircles 

the pine. 
And the proud elm is wreathed by the 

close-clinging vine; 
Thou hast tasted the dew of the untrod- 
den plain, 
And followed the streams as they roll to 

the main; 
Thou hast dipp'd thy swift wing in the 

feathery spray, 
Where the earth-quaking cataract roars 

on its way. 

Bird of the sky! thou hast sailed on the 

cloud, 
Where the battle raged fierce, and the 

cannon roared loud; 
Thou hast stooped to the earth when the 

foeman was slain, 
And waved thy wide wing o'er the blood- 
sprinkled plain; 
Thou hast soared where the banner of 

freedom is borne; 
Thou hast gazed at the far-dreaded lion 

in scorn, 
Thy beak has been wet in the blood of 

our foes, 
When the home of the brave has been 

left to repose. 



Bird of the clime in which liberty dwells, 
Nurse of the free soul in thy cliff-shel- 

ter'd dells! 
Hover above the strong heart in its pride, 
Whisper of those who for freedom have 

died! 
Bear up the free-nurtured spirit of man, 
Till it soar, like thine own, through its 

earth-bounded span; 
Waft it above, o'er the mountain and 

wave — 
Spread thy free wing o'er the patriot's 

grave ! 



RONDEAU. 



When I am dead, and all my heart's dis- 
tress 
Lies in the earth's sweet forgetfulness, 
I care not, love, if all the world go by 
My quiet grave without a word or sigh, 
If thou but think of me with gentleness. 
World's praise or blame is nothing; hit 

or miss, 
Love is alone the measure of our bliss, 
And safe within love's heart my name 
will lie, 

When I am dead. 

To thee, my darling, all will seem amiss, 

Till gentle time shall help thee to dis- 
miss 

Death's gloom; for that, too, has its time 
to die, 

And sorrow's thought grows hallowed by 
and by; 

Take courage, then, dear suffering heart: 
Read this 

When I am dead. 



m' 



YOUTH IS NOT RICH IN TIME. 

Youth is not rich in time; it may be 

poor: 
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay 
No moment, but in purchase of its worth: 
And what it is, ask death-beds; they can 

tell, 
Part with it as with life, reluctant; big 
With holy hope of nobler time to come. 



^c? 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



427 



SOMEWHERE. 

Somewhere — somewhere a happy clime 
there is, 
A land that knows not unavailing woes, 
Where all the clashing elements of this 
Discordant scene are hushed in deep 
repose. 
Somewhere — somewhere (ah me, that 
land to win!) 
Is some bright realm, beyond the farth- 
est main, 
Where trees of Knowledge bear no fruit 

of sin, 
And buds of Pleasure blossom not in pain. 
Somewhere — somewhere an end of mor- 
tal strife 
With our immortal yearnings; never- 
more 
The outer warring with the inner life 
Till both are wretched. Ah, that 
happy shore! 
Where shines for aye the soul's refulgent 

sun, 
And life is love, and love and joy are one! 



1 






THE FEAST OF THE PERSIAN 
KING. 

Once on a time, tells old tradition hoary, 
A king invited guests with him to 
dine; 
And as he sat in regal pomp and glory, 
Urging his friends to draughts of rosy 
wine, 
A question he proposed to guests sur- 
rounding, 
That custom justified him in propound- 



" Wine, women, or the king, which is the 
strongest?" 
This was the question which the mon- 
arch asked; 

But none replied, and silence brooded 
longest, 
By which the royal patience had been 
tasked. 

The king turned to the master of the 
palace, 

Who to his lips had raised the brimming 
chalice : 



■K^cJ^i'. 



"What ho! my master, tell us thy opin- 
ion: 
Is wine, the king, or woman strongest 
found? 

What is the power that holds unchecked 
dominion, 
And in what chains is man the strong- 
est bound?" 

Replied the master: "Neither king nor 
woman 

Is strong as wine, nor other power 
human!" 

Then of the chancellor the monarch 
queried — 
"Which is the strongest, woman, king 
or wine ? " 

Though bent with years, the officer, un- 
wearied, 
Was worthy of a rank in regal line, 

And gallantly and promptly answered, 
"Woman! 

And this will be the word from every 
true man." 

A Hebrew sat — invited to the table 

For early intimacy with the king — 
And he was asked to solve, if he was able, 
And answer true unto the question 
bring. 
"The wine is strong, and she who men 

ensnareth, 
But stronger still is Truth which victory 
beareth." 

Pondered the king upon the strange addi- 
tion — 
Pondered the knights who sat around 
the board — 

Then bowed the heads of all in due sub- 
mission 
Before the power of that almighty 
word. 

And spoke the king: "Thy words the 
knot have riven, 

And what thou wilt, it freely shall be 
given." 

Before the mighty monarch bowed the 
stranger, 
Yet with the strength of virtue in his 
tone, 

^t 



£R> 



428 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






As if he felt, not feared, a coming danger, 
That for his boldness towards hirn 

might be shown: 
"My brethren would to God rebuild a 

temple; 
Thou hast the power to give them license 

ample." 

Then spoke the king, warmed by the 
honest token, 
Admiring much the pious boon he 
asked, 

And influenced, too, by words so fearless 
spoken: 
"Thy wish I grant, — thy day of wait- 
ing past; 

Safe conduct give I thee, thy way return- 
ing, 

To rear a house to God, his favor earn- 
ing." 

Then caused the king upon his banner 
waving, 
That lesson taught should not his sub- 
jects fail, 
To be inscribed with curious engraving: 
" Truth is almighty and it will pre- 
vail." 
And history records that after ages 
Saw Persia governed by a line of sages. 



THE FLOWER'S PROPHECY. 

When heaven grows dim and faith seeks 
to renew 

The image of its everlasting dower; 
I know no argument so sweet, as through 

The bosom of a flower. 



BOYS AND MEN. 

Candid, and generous, and just, 
Boys care but little whom they trust, 

An error soon corrected — 
For who but learns in riper years, 
That man, when smoothest he appears, 

Is most to be suspected? 



FRIENDS. 

He who has a thousand friends, has not 

a friend to spare, 
And he who has an enemy, shall meet 

him everywhere. 



WHO CAN DIRECT. 

Now where to find that happiest spot be- 
low, 

Who can direct when all pretend to 
know? 



A LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. 

I know a funny fellow, 
With locks of golden yellow, 

Who never yet could cross or angry be; 
Although he often tumbles, 
He never cries or grumbles, 

But he laughs, Ha! ha! and Ho! ho! ho! 
He! he! 

The very blossoms knew him, 
The brooks came running to him, 
And sang, " We love to join you in your 
glee!" 
Glad birds came flying after, 
To listen to his laughter, 
With its Ha! ha! ha! and Ho! ho! ho! 
He! he! 

"We're comrades!" smiled the 

daisies; 
In pleasant woodland mazes 
The squirrels chirped, "He's quite as 
gay as we!" 
What cheery sunshine made he, 
In places lone and shady, 
With his Ha! ha! ha! and Ho! ho! ho! 
He! he! 

Wben life shall lift the curtain 
Of years for him, 'tis certain 
That no cross nor crabbed nature will his 
be; 
If joy may leave us one beam, 
Oh, may that be our sunbeam, 
With his Ha! ha! ha! and Ho! ho! ho! 
He! he! 



^a 



v< 



-r>u v ^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



429 



O 






ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN 
FLAG. 

Studied up while a settin onto the plazzy fence watch- 
en of the wavin from the top of the liberty poal, and 
a tutchin off fire-crackers now and then. 

0, mity rag! booteoos peese of kioth! 
Made up of red and white and blue 

stripes 
And stars painted on both sides — 
All hail! Agin I'm settin in thi umbra- 
jus 
Shadder, and admirin of thy grandjor, 
And suckin into my chist the gentle zef- 

fers 
That ar a holden you out well ni onto 
Strate. Grate flag! when I shet 
Mi ize and look at ye, and think 
How as when you was little, and not 

mutch 
Bigger than a small peese of cloth, and 
Almost as tender as a shete of paper, yu 
Was karried all thru the reverlushun- 
Ary wor, and tu have sum fu times since 
Held up yer head with difficulty, and 
How tremenjus yu ar now, I feel 
Jest as if I should bust and fli all round 

& want 
To get down off the fense, and git shot, 
Or stabd, or hit on the hed with a stick of 
Wood, or hung for my kuntry. 

Prodigus banner! Would n't I smile to 

see 
A Chinaman or a smaul unnaturalized 
Forriner undertake to pull you down! 
If a Chinaman, I would sla him, and kut 

off 
His kew, and bare it off in triumf ! 
Before I 'd see a slit in ye, or the sacre- 

lejus 
Hands of a fo a kuttin of yu up into 

bullit- 
Pachin, I 'd brace my back agin a waul 

[or a 
House, or a fense, or a bord, as it mite 

be,] 
And fite, and strike, and skratch, and 
Kick, and bite, and tare my klose, and 
Loose mi holt, and git hit in the i, and 
On my leg (hard) and akrost the smaul of 
back, and fall down and git up 




Agin, and kontinue the struggle for a 

haff or 
Thre quorters of an our, or until I got 
Severely wounded. 

Terrific emblem! How proud yu look, 
And how almity sassy yu wave round, 
A snappin, and crackin, and a skarin of 

horses; 
I spose you air almost tairin to get into a 
Fite with sumbody, and satisfyin your 

kar- 
Nivarous dispersishun by etin up a hole 

nashun. 

Grate flag! I don't no which maiks me 

feel the 
Most patriotick — yu or the fort of July; 
Yu are about the same aige, and are both 
Sublime and terrible to kontemplate. 



LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE. 

Lady Clara Vere De Vere, 

Of me you shall not win renown; 
You thought to break a country heart, 

For pastime e're you went to town. 
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled 

I saw the snare, and I retired: 
The daughter of a hundred earls, 

You are not one to be desired. 

Lady Clara Vere De Vere, 

I know you 're proud to bear your name; 
Your pride is yet no mate for mine, 

Too proud to care from whence I came. 
Nor would I break, for your sweet'sake, 

A heart that dotes on truer charms. 
A simple maiden in her flower, 

Is worth a hundred coat of arms. 

You sought to prove how I could love, 

And my disdain is my reply. 
The lions on our court yard steps, 

Are not more cold to you than I. 



MY FRIEND. 



My friend, with you to live alone, 
Were how much better than to own 
A crown, a scepter, and a throne ! 







430 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




WESTWARD HO! 

Away to the West, where the primeval 
wood 

Yet throws its dark fringe on the Michi- 
gan flood; 

Where, pale in their beauty, the forest 
flowers bloom, 

And the earth is yet mantled in forest- 
land gloom; 

With the bounds of an empire, the dark 
virgin soil,. 

Full of treasures, awaiteth the husband- 
man's toil. 

Away to the West, by the Huron's green 
shore, 

Where nature still reigneth supreme as 
of yore; 

Where, murmuring soft in the flickering 
gleam 

Of its leaf-curtained hall, goes the cano- 
pied stream; 

There stands a broad realm, where the 
toil of the poor 

May keep the grim demon of want from 
the door. 

Away in the West, 'neath the brightest 

of skies, 
And horizon bounded, the prairie land 

lies — 
The prairie land, over whose surface is 

rolled 
A garment much fairer than diamonds 

and gold; 
There the bard hand of labor but waveth 

its wand, 
And a harvest all golden springs up from 

the land. 

Away to the West! ye who grovel and 

pine 
In the haunts of the many, in tunnel and 

mine; 
Banish pick-ax and shovel! then, ho! for 

the plow; 
For a tithe of the labor that dampens 

your brow 
Will place you in plenty — a tithe of your 

toil 
Make you chief of the manor, and lord of 

the soil. 

'-VJo-b 



Ye famishing legions from Europe just 

fled, 
Ye exiles of hunger, ye seekers of bread, 
Away with the moment, and linger no 

more 
By the waves that have borne you across 

to our shore! 
For millions and millions as yet there is 

room, 
Where the prairie lands smile and the 

forest trees bloom. 



AN OLD PROVERB. 

Pouting, my darling, because it rains, 
And flowers droop and the rain is fall- 
ing, 
And drops are blurring the window panes 
And a moaning wind through the lane 
is calling! 
Crying and wishing the sky was clear, 

And roses again on the lattice twining ! 
Ah well, remember, my foolish dear, 
"'Tiseasyto laugh when the sun is 
shining!" 

When the world is bright and fair and 

gay, 

And glad birds sing in the fair June 
weather, 
And summer is gathering, night and day, 
Her golden chalice of sweets together; 
When blue seas answer the sky above, 
And bright stars follow the day's de- 
clining, 
Why, then, 'tis no merit to smile, my 
love; 
"'Tis easy to laugh when the sun is 
shining!" 

But this is the time the heart to test, 
When winter is near and storms are 
howling, 
And the earth from under her frozen vest 
Looks up at the sad sky mute and 
scowling; 
The brave little spirit should rise to meet 
The season's gloom and the day's re- 
pining; 
And this is the time to be glad, for, sweet, 
"'Tis easy to laugh when the sun is 
shining!" 



:er> 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



431 



M 



THE GRUMBLING PEASANTS. 

One summer's day — the tale is told — 
An honest Peasant, poor and old, 
Worked in the meadow with his wife, 
When thus she spoke: u Well, on my life! 
'T is precious hard that you and I 
Must sweat beneath the burning sky, 
Like galley slaves, for paltry pay, 
And all because — alas the day ! — 
Of Adam's fall! But for his sin 
And Eve's, how happy we had been!" 
"True!" said the Peasant; "I believe, 
Had I been Adam, you been Eve, 
No foolish fancies would have come 
To drive us from our Eden-home; 
But all the race, this very day, 
Had in the Garden been at play ! " 
The Count, their master, standing near 
(Though quite unnoticed), chanced to 

hear 
Their wise discourse; and, laughing, said: 
"-Well, my good friends, suppose instead 
Of Paradise, my mansion there 
Were yours to-day; with princely fare 
For food to eat and wine to drink, 
Would that content ye, do ye think? " 
"Ah! that were Paradise indeed! 
What more," they cried, " could mortals 

need?" 
"Well, we shall see," the Count replied; 
" But that your virtue may be tried, 
Remember, on the table, served 
With many a dish, there's one reserved; 
Partake of every one you see 
Save that, which (like the Fatal Tree) 
Just in the centre I will place. 
Beware of that! lest Adam's case 
Should be your own, and straight you go 
Back to your sickle, rake, and hoe! " 
Soon to the castle they were led, 
And by a table richly spread, 
As for a bacchanal carouse, 
Behold the Peasant and his spouse! 
"See!" said the woman, "what a treat! 
Far more, I 'm sure, than we can eat; 
With such excess we well may spare 
The dish that's in the centre there!" 
" Who cares for that? " the Peasant said; 
(While eagerly the couple fed 
From all the plates that round them lay.) 



i?C 



My dear! I would n't look that way! " 



"No harm in looking!" said the wife; 
" I would n't touch it for my life." 
But in their minds, at length, there grew 
A strong desire for something new; 
Whereat the woman said, " I wish 
I knew what 's hidden in that dish? " 
"And, to be sure," the man replied, 
"Merely to look was not denied! " 
"And even touching it," said she, 
" Were no great harm, it seems to me; 
Of course, I will not lift the lid; 
And who would know it if I did?" 
She suits the action to the word, 
When from the dish a little bird 
(The Count had slyly hidden there) 
Came rushing forth into the air, 
And through the open window flew; 
And so it was the master knew 
What they had done. "Away!" he said; 
" Back to the field and earn your bread 
As you were wont, — and ne'er complain 
Of Adam and Eve again!" 



VENUS AND VULCAN: 

OK, THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. 

When the peerless Aphrodite 
First appeared among her kin, 

What a flutter of excitement 
All the goddesses were in! 

How the gods, in deep amazement, 
Bowed before the Queen of Beauty, 

And in loyal adoration 

Proffered each his humble duty! 

Phoebus, first, to greet her coming, 
Met her with a grand oration; 

Mars, who ne'er before had trembled, 
Showed the plainest trepidation ! 

Hermes fairly lost his cunning, 
Gazing at the new Elysian; 

Plutus quite forgot his money 
In the rapture of his vision! 

Even Jove was deeply smitten 
(So the Grecian poets tell us), 

And, as might have been expected, 
Juno was extremely jealous ! 







432 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




Staid Minerva thought her silly; 

Chaste Diana called her vain; 
But not one of all the ladies 

Dared to say that she was "plain!" 

Surely such a throng of lovers 
Never mortal yet could boast; 

Everywhere throughout Olympus 
"Charming Venus!" was the toast! 

Even Vulcan, lame and ugly, 

Paid the dame his awkward court; 

But the goddess, in derision, 
Turned his passion into sport; 

Laughed aloud at all his pleading, 
Bade him wash his visage sooty, 

And go wooing with the Harpies, 
What had he to do with Beauty? 

Well — how fared it with the goddess? 

Sure, the haughty queen of love, 
Choosing one to suit her fancy, 

Married Phoebus, Mars, or Jove? 

No! — at last — as often happens 
To coquettes of lower station — 

Venus found herself neglected, 
With a damaged reputation; 

And esteeming any husband 

More desirable than none, 
She was glad to marry Vulcan 

As the best that could be done! 

l'eitvoi. 

Hence you learn the real reason, 
Which your wonder oft arouses, 

Why so many handsome women 
Have such very ugly spouses! 



DER OAK UND DER VINE. 

I don'd vas preaching voman's righdts, 

Or anyding like dot, 
Und I likes to see all beoples 

Shust gondented mit dheir lot; 
Budt I vants to gondradict that shap 

Dot made dis leedle shoke: 
"A voman vas der glmging vine, 

Und man, der shturdy oak." 



Berhaps, somedimes, dot may pe drue; 

Budt, den dimes oudt of nine, 
I find me oudt dot man himself 

Vas peen der glinging vine; 
Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone, 

Und he vas shust "tead proke," 
Dot's vhen der voman shteps righdt in, 

Und peen der shturdy oak. 

Shust go oup to der pase-ball groundts 

Und see dhose "shturdy oaks" 
All planted roundt ubon der seats — 

Shust hear dheir laughs und shokes! 
Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs, 

Mit glothes oudt on der lines: 
Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine friendts, 

Und vhich der glinging vines? 

Ven sickness in der householdt comes, 

Und veeks und veeks he shtays, 
Who vas id fighds him mitoudt resdt, 

Dhose veary nights und days? 
Who beace und gomfort alvays prings, 

Und cools dot fefered prow? 
More like id vas der tender vine 

Dot oak he glings to, now. 

" Man vants budt leedle here pelow," 

Der boet von time said; 
Dhere 's leedle dot man he dont't vant, 

I dink id means, inshtead; 
Und vhen der years keep rolling on, 

Dheir cares und droubles pringing, 
He vants to pe der shturdy oak, 

Und also do der glinging. 

Maybe, vhen oaks dhey gling some more, 

Und dont't so shturdy peen, 
Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance 

To helb run Life's masheen. 
In heldt und sickness, shoy und pain, 

In calm or shtormy veddher, 
'Tvas bedher dot dhose oaks und vines 

Should alvays gling togedher. 



LOVE AND LUST. 

Love comforteth like sunshine after rain; 

But lust's effect is tempest after sun; 
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh re- 
main; 
Lust's winter comes ere summer half 
be done. 



'^cr^ 



f 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



433 



LILLIAN. 

Airy fairy, Lillian, 

Flitting fairy, Lillian, 
When I ask her if she love me, 
Claps her tiny hands above me, 

Laughing all she can; 
She '11 not tell me if she love me, 

Cruel little Lillian. 



DISSOLUTION. SERVED HIM 
RIGHT. 

I will seek the woman I loved (he said) 

Long ago in life's fortunate days; 
I am tired and discouraged and sick at 

heart, 
And my thoughts wander back the 

remembered ways 
To the woman I loved in days that are 

dead, 
And long for the sight of her face (he 

said). 

She was strangely faithful and kind (he 

said), 
With the gentlest heart and sweetest 

eyes, 
That clung to one's gaze in a passionate 

way; 
And I was a fool to be cold and wise 
And relinquish such love — seek others 

instead, 
And leave her alone to despair (he said). 

I will go to her now at once (he said), 

For life is discordant and out of tune, 

And I need her love and her sympathies. 

I loved her too lightly and left her too 

soon; 

But the future shall live when the past 

is dead 
And my heart yearns back to her heart 
(he said). 

I am here at last in her home (he said), 

Here all alone in the twilight gloom; 

I wait for the sound of her step on the 

stair, 

And I sit in her dear familiar room, 

With all her sweet flowers, and her 

books on the shelf; 
For nothing is changed here — excepting 



myself. 




I heard her voice. I remember (he said) 
Her voice like a child's with its sob- 
bing tone, 

But then came a pause and a whispered 
word — 
A laugh — that seemed turning my 
heart to stone; 

The door opened wide, and my hopes 
were fled, 

For a new love was there by her side (he 
said). 



THE VICTIM. 

A Gallic bard the touching tale has told 
How once — the customary dower to 

save — 
A sordid sire his only daughter gave 
To a rich suitor, ugly, base, and old. 
The mother too (such mothers there have 
been) 
With equal pleasure heard the formal 

vow, 
" With all my worldly goods I thee 
endow," 
And gave the bargain an approving grin. 
Then, to the girl, who stood with drooping 
head, 
The pallid image of a wretch forlorn, 
Mourning the hapless hour when she 
was born, 
The Priest said, "Agnes, wilt thou this 
man wed? " 
" Of this, my marriage, holy man," said 

she, 
" Thou art the first to say a word to 
me!" 



ON A CRITIC. 

A brother scribbler calls my verses wrong 
In point of art; small merit he can see. 
Well, since myreaders like my simple 
song, 
That, I am sure, is quite enough for 
me; 
The man who gives a public dinner looks 
To please his guests, not other people's 
cooks ! 

9R 



siM 



iJ b 



434 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE GRATEFUL PREACHER. 

A strolling preacher, " once upon a time," 

Addressed a congregation rather slim 
In numbers, — yet his subject was sub- 
lime 
('Twas "Charity"); sonorous was the 
hymn, 
Fervent the prayer; and though the 
house was small, 
He pounded lustily the Sacred Word, 
And preached an hour as loud as he could 
bawl, 
As one who meant the Gospel should 
be heard. 
And now, behold, the preacher's hat is 
sent 
Among the pews for customary pence, 
But soon returns as empty as it went! — 
Whereat, — low bowing to the audi- 
ence, — 
He said, " My preaching is not all in vain; 
Thank God! I've got my beaver back 



again 



1 



AN EMPTY NEST. 

A grave old man and a maiden fair 

Walked together at early morn; 
The thrushes up in the clear, cool air 

Sang to the farmer planting his corn. 
And 0! how sweet was the fresh turned 
mound; 

And 0! how fair were the budding 
trees ! 
For daisy's silver and daffodil's gold 

Were full of the happy honey bees. 

"Ah, look! there's an empty nest," she 
said; 
"And I wonder where sings the last 
year's birds? " 
Then the old man quickly raised his 
head, 
Though scarcely he noticed her musing 
words; 
He tore the nest from the swaying tree, 

He flung to the winds its moss and hay, 
And said: "When an empty nest you 
see 
Be sure that you throw it far away." 



"But why? " she asked with a sorrowing 
face — 
"Why may not the pretty home 
abide?" 
"Because," he answered, "'twill be a 
place 
In which the worm and the slug will 
hide. 
Last year 'twas fair enough in its way — 
It was full of love and merry with 
song; 
But days that are gone must not spoil 
to-day, 
Nor dead joys do the living joys 
wrong." 

The maiden heard with a thoughtful 
face — 
Her first false love had gone far 
away — 
And she thought: Is my heart become a 
place 
For anger, and hate, and grief to stay? 
Down, heart, with thy sad, forsaken 
nest! 
Fling far thy selfish and idle pain, 
The love that is ours is always the best — 
And she went with a smile to her 
work again. 



A PLAIN CASE. 

When Tutor Thompson goes to bed, 
That very moment, it is said, 
The cautious man puts out the light, 
And draws the curtain snug and tight. 
You marvel much why this should be, 
But when his spouse you chance to see, 
What seemed before a puzzling case 
Is plain as — Mrs. Thompson's face! 



A DILEMMA. 

" Whenever I marry," says masculine 

Ann, 
" I must really insist upon wedding a 

man!" 
But what if the man (for men are but 

human) 
Should be equally nice about wedding a 

woman? 



i^V! 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



435 






MUST NEVER TOUCH MINE. 


If one spark in your bosom of virtue re- 


You are coming to woo me, but not as of 


main, 
Go fan it with prayer till it kindles 


yore, 


again ; 


When I hastened to welcome your ring 


Resolved, with God helping, in future 


at the door; 


to be 


For I trusted that he who stood waiting 


From rum and its fetters unshackled and 


for me then, 


free. 


Was the brightest, and truest, and 


And when you have conquered this foe 


noblest of men. 


of your soul, 


Your lips on my own when they bade 


And forsaken in earnest the deep flowing 


me farewell; 


bowl, 


Had never been soiled by the bev'rage of 


This heart will again beat responsive to 


hell; 


thine, 


But they come to me now with a baccha- 


And the lips free from liquor be welcome 


nal sign, 


to mine 


And the lips that touch liquor must 




never touch mine. 






HEART'S-EASE. 


Oh John! how it crush'd me, when first 


While o'er my life still hung the morn- 


on your face, 


ing star, 


The pen of the Rum-fiend had written 


Dreamy and soft in tender-lighted skies; 


disgrace ; 


While care and sorrow held themselves 


And turned me in silence and tears, from 


afar, 


the breath 


And no sad mist of tears had dimmed 


All poisoned and foul from the chalice 


my eyes, 


of death. 


I saw Love's roses blowing, 


It scattered the hopes I had treasured 


With scent and color glowing, 


to last! 


And so I wished for them with longing 


It darkened the future, and clouded the 


sighs. 


past ! 




It shattered my idol and ruined the shrine, 


The brightest hung so high, and held 


For the lips that touch liquor must 


aloft 


never touch mine. 


Their crimson faces, passionately bright. 




The gay, rich, golden ones escaped me oft, 




And hedged with sharpest thorns the 


I loved you, oh, dearer than language 


lofty white; 


can tell! 


From all my eager pleading 


And you saw it, you proved it, you knew 


They turned away, unheeding; 


it too well; 


Among Love's roses none were mine of 


But the man of my love was far other 


right. 


than he 




Who now from the tap-room comes reel- 


Yet, of sweet things, those roses seemed 


ing to me. 


most sweet 


In manhood and honor, so noble ^and 


And most desirable, until a voice, 


right — 


Soft as sad music, said, "Lo, at thy feet 


Your heart was so true, and your genius 


A little flower shall make thy heart 


so bright — 


rejoice." 


Though in silence, with blighted affec- 


And so, the voice obeying, 


tion I pine, 


I saw, in beauty straying, 


Yet the lips that touch liquor can never 


A wealth of heart's-ease, waiting for 


touch mine. 


my choice. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




Great purple pansies, each with snowy 
heart, 
And golden ones, with eyes of deepest 
blue; 
Some " freaked with jet," some pure white 
ones apart, 
But all so sweet and fresh with morn- 
ing dew, 
I could not bear to lose them, 
I could not help but choose them, 
For sweet content sat singing where 
they grew. 

So, now, Love's roses shake their scented 
leaves, 
But tempt me not to their enchanted 
quest; 
I gather " heart's-ease," set in dewy 
leaves, 
And am content, — for me it is the 
best. 
Be glad if, sweet and glowing, 
You find Love's roses blowing — 
I sing through life, with heart's-ease at 
my breast. 



STORY OP THE GATE. 

Across -the pathway, myrtle-fringed, 
Under the maple, it was hinged — 

The little wooden gate; 
'T was there within the quiet gloam, 
When I had strolled with Nelly home, 

I used to pause and wait 

Before I said to her good-night, 
Yet loath to leave the winsome sprite 

Within the garden's pale; 
And there, the gate between us two, 
We 'd linger, as all lovers do, 

And lean upon the rail. 

And face to face, eyes close to eyes, 
Hands meeting hands in feigned surprise, 

After a stealthy quest, — 
So close I 'd bend, ere she 'd retreat, 
That I 'd grow drunken from the sweet 

Tuberose upon her breast. 




We'd talk — in fitful style, I ween — 
With many a meaning glance between 

The tender words and low; 
We 'd whisper some dear, sweet conceit, 
Some idle gossip we 'd repeat, 

And then I 'd move to so. 



"Good-night," I'd say; "good-night — 

good-bye ! " 
"Good-night" — from her, with half a 
sigh — 
"Good-night!" "GW-night ! " And 
then — 
And then I do not go, but stand, 
Again lean on the railing, and — 
Begin it all again. 



Ah! that was many a day ago — 
That pleasant summer-time — although 

The gate is standing yet; 
A little cranky, it may be, 
A little weather-worn — like me — 

Who never can forget 



The happy— "End?" My cynic friend, 
Pray save your sneers — there was no 
"end." 

Watch yonder chubby thing! 
That is our youngest, hers and mine; 
See how he climbs, his legs to twine 

About the gate, and swing. 



TOO CANDID BY HALF. 

As Tom and his wife were discoursing 
one day 

Of their several faults, in a bantering way, 
Said she: "Though my writ you dis- 
parage, 

I 'm sure, my dear husband, our friends 
will attest 

This much, at the least, that mj judgment 
is best." 
Quoth Tom: " So they said at our mar- 
riage!" c^< 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DILEMMA. 

Two fashionable women, rather gay 
Than wise, were bosom friends for 

many a year, 
And called each other darling, duck, 
and dear, 
As lovers do, — till, one unlucky day, 
The younger, falling into sad disgrace 
(An old suspicion blackening into 

proof), 
Her cautious crony coldly kept aloof, 
And, for a time, discreetly hid her face. 
Meeting at last, the injured lady cries, 
" Is this the way you cherish and de- 
fend 
The wounded honor of your dearest 
friend? " 
" Of course I knew," the timid dame re- 
plies, 
w The tale was f alse,— but then what 

could I do? — 
I haven't character enough for two!" 



OAD TO THE ATLANTIC CABILE. 

Grate string! My sad mews awakes 
Her powers, and conjures you to speak! 
Wy did you break middotien? 
Wy dash all our hoaps to attums 
With the suddingness of a streke of liten- 

ing? 
Hall Hingland was astonished at the 
Prospects of ewer suctsess. 
The Old World was anxius (to speke 

plane), 
Nashun and hamlit alike was in aggony. 
Rustle had his pen in reddiness, 
The first werds to be sent over was got 

reddy, 
When, in a unhappy moment, you snapt! 
And ware air we? No ware. 
Ware air you ? Gone, like Dant and 
Beertris, to the dark cavurns of the sea! 
Grate questions now arise — 
Wot is England to do without this meens 
Of support? Are we expected to send 

over 
Moar ship iodes of biled potatoes? 
If so, speak! and we are reddy. 



Is the commertial whirld to wate 

Ou its ores till you air fished up agin? 

I merely asked for information; 

They wood like to know. 

The weels of enterprise air rushing on 

Meanwhile, and we are bizzy agin. 

We hev pict up our anvils and tules, 

Our pens and our soards, and 

Air to work. 

When ewer latter end was seen gliding 

Over the ship's bowes, people moarned! 

Strong men shrieked! 

The crue got together in the 4 cassle 

And rung each other's hand! 

The capting went into his galley and shed 

A few secret tiers. 

The operator stewed in a maize! 

Desorty raved, but the burriny otian 

Had done its wust. 

The storm-king triumffed. 

Old Neptune was a konkrer, 

And the whirld was dum! 

We abangdon you for a wile, 

But not forever. 

Yankee wise men air rubbing their heds 

Together over it, and something will 

Come, or there '11 be a break. 

This you may set down as reliable. 

Our fokes would have done -it before 

If you'd requested; but u all swell 

That end swell," the poick says, 

So you may expect to be raised air long. 

Till then, farewell, slender thread! 




CHEERFULNESS. 

Let me play the fool: 
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles 

come; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying 

groans. 
Why should a -man whose blood is warm 

within, 
Sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into 

the jaundice 

By being peevish ? 





438 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE WARM YOUNG HEART 

A beautiful face, and a form of grace, 
Were a pleasant sight to see; 

And gold, and gems, and diadems, 
Right excellent they be; 

But beauty and gold though both be un- 
told, 
Are things of a worldly mart; 

The wealth that I prize above ingots or 



eyes 
Is a heart 



a warm young heart. 



0, face most fair, shall thy beauty com- 
pare 

With affection's glowing light? 
0, riches and pride, how pale ye beside 

Love's wealth serene, and bright! 
I spurn thee away as a cold thing of clay, 

Though gilded and carved thou art; 
For all that I prize, in its smiles and its 
sighs, 

Is a heart — a warm young heart. 



MY FRIENDS ARE NOT LIKE 
THINE. 

My friends are not like thine, although 

thou 'rt happy thought to be; 
I never loved thee less, but yet I never 

envied thee. 
I would not change my present lot for 

one, my friend, like thine; 
I never had one wish to kneel at fashion's 

gilded shrine. 

I 'm fearful lest the summer friends, that 

linger by thy side, 
Might not withstand stern winter's blast; 

they never have been tried; 
They love to see the flowers that bloom 

so brightly round thy way; 
I fear they would not stand by thee to see 

those flowers decay. 

You must remember, Fortune's wheel is 

always turning round; 
Some friends that smile when Fortune 

smiles, with her are sure to frown; 
Give me warm friends with open hearts, 

the generous and sincere, 
Who weep beside the dying couch, the 

coffin and the bier. 




Reach not too high to pluck the rose, its 
fragrance may be sweet, 

Nor crush the little violet that blooms 
beneath your feet; 

The sweetest rose that scents the air con- 
ceals the sharpest thorn, 

Whilst many a blue-eyed violet lies hid- 
den and forlorn. 

There is a flower, called sympathy, far 

sweeter than the rose, 
'Tis sure in pleasure's brightest hour to 

keep its petals close; 
But when we tire of earthly things — 

when earthly tear-drops start — 
Its fragrance falls like healing balm upon 

the wounded heart. 

My friends are not like thine, sweet girl, 

nor would I have them be, 
Although I hope thy friends may prove 

forever true to thee; 
Should grief e'er fling its mantle round 

and shroud thee like a pall, 
Then I will linger by thy side, the truest 

of them all. 



MY LUCY. 



In vain I look around, 

On all the well-known ground, 
My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry; 

Where oft we us'd to walk; 

Where oft in tender talk, 
We saw the summer sun go down the 
sky. 

For my distracted mind 

What succor can I find? 
On whom for consolation shall I call? 

Support me ev'ry friend; 

Your kind assistance lend, 
To bear the weight of this oppressive 
woe. 



RUIN AND LOSS. 

The older the ruin, the greener the moss. 
The older the friendship, the keener the 
loss. 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




439 



A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. 

0, she doth teach the torches to burn 

bright! 
Her beauty haugs on the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel' in an Ethiop's ear: 
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too 

dear! 



MURDERING BEAUTY. 

I '11 gaze no more on her bewitching 
face, 

Since ruin harbors there in every place; 

For my enchauted soul alike she drowns, 

With calms and tempests of her smiles 
and frowns. 

I'll love no more those cruel eyes of hers, 

Which pleas'd or anger'd, still are mur- 
derers: 

For if she dart (like lightning) through 
the air 

Her beams of wrath, she kills me with 
despair; 

If she behold me with a pleasing eye, 

I surfeit with excess of joy, and die. 



ALAS! 



Alas for all high hopes and all desires ! 
Like leaves in yellow-time they fall. 
Alas for prayers and psalms, and love's 
pure fires; 
One silence, and one darkness ends 
them all. 

Alas for all mankind — sad, fleeting race! 

Alas, my love, for you and me alas! 
Some day death holds us in a close em- 
brace; 
We too, like all the rest, from earth 
must pass. 

Alas! to think we shall forget some hours 
Whereof the memory like love's planet 
glows — 
Forget them, as the year her withered 
flowers — 
Forget them, as the sun forgets the 
rose. 



Our keenest rapture, our most deep de- 
spair, 
Our hopes, our dreads, our laughter, 
and our tears, 
Shall dwell no more at all upon the air — 
No more at all through all the endless 
years. 

We shall be mute beneath the grass and 
dew, 
We shall be very mute there, in death's 
state — 
And you will be as I, and I as you — 
One sameness shed upon us, and one 
fate. 



TATTLERS. 



Whoever keeps an open ear 
To tattlers, will be sure to hear 

The trumpet of contention; 
Aspersion is the babbler's trade, 
To listen is to lend him aid, 

And rush into dissension. 

Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
True as the needle to the pole, 

Their humor yet so various — 
They manifest, their whole life through, 
The needle's deviation too, 

Their love is so precarious. 

That secrets are a sacred trust; 

That friends should be sincere and just; 

That constancy befits them; 
Are observations on the case, 
That savour much of common place, 

And all the world admits them. 

The man I trust, if shy to me, 
Shall find me as reserv'd as he; 

No subterfuge or pleading 
Shall win my confidence again; 
I will by no means entertain 

A spy on my proceeding. ■ 

Candid, and generous, and just, 
Boys care but little whom they trust, 

An error soon corrected — 
For who but learns in riper years, 
That man, when smoothest he appears 

Is most to be suspected. 





440 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



d?S 



THE FLOWER OF LOVE-LIES- 
BLEEDING. 

I met a little maid one day, 

All in the bright May weather; 

She danced, and brushed the dew away 
As lightly as a feather. 

She had a ballad in her hand 
That she had just been reading, 

But she was too young to understand 

That ditty of a distant land, 
" The flower of love-lies-bleeding." 

She tripped across the meadow-grass, 

To where a brook was flowing; 
Across the brook like wind did pass, 

Wherever flowers were growing. 

Like some bewildered child she flew, 

Whom fairies were misleading; 

" Whose butterfly," I said, " are you," 

" And what sweet thing do you pursue ?',' 

"The flower of love-lies-bleeding." 

" I 've found the wild rose in the hedge, 

"And found the tiger-lily, 
" The blue flag by the water's edge, 

" The dancing daffodilly. 
"King cups and pansies, every flower 

"Except the one I'm needing; 
"Perhaps it grows in some dark bower, 
"And opens at a later hour, 

"The flower of love-lies-bleeding." 

" I would n't look for it," I said, 

" For you can do without it; 
" There 's no such flower." She shook her 
head, 
"But I have read about it!" 
I talked to her of bee and bird, 
But she was all unheeding; 
Her tender heartjwas strangely stirred, 
She harped on that unhappy word, 
" The flower of love-lies-bleeding." 

" My child," I sighed, and dropped a tear, 

" I would no longer mind it; 
"You'll find it some day, never fear, 

" For all of us must find it. 
" I found it^many a year ago, 

"With one of gentle breeding; 
" You and the little lad you know, 
" see why you are weeping so — 

" Your flower of love-lies-bleeding. 

d 9 



JACQUEMINOTS. 

I may not speak in words, dear, but let 
my words be flowers, 
To tell their crimson secret in leaves of 
fragrant fire; 
They plead for smiles and kisses as sum- 
mer fields of showers, 
And every purple veinlet thrills with 
exquisite desire. 

0, let me see the glance, dear, the gleam 
of soft confession 
You give my amourous roses for the 
tender hope they prove; 
And press their heart-leaves back, love, to 
drink their deeper passion, 
For the sweetest, wildest perfume is 
the whisper of my love! 

My roses, tell her, pleading, all the fond- 
ness and the sighing, 
All the longing of a heart that reaches 
thirsting for its bliss; 
And tell her, tell her, roses, that my lips 
and eyes are dying 
For the melting of her love-look and 
the rapture of her kiss. 



NO SURRENDER. 

Ever constant, ever true, let the word be, 

no surrender; 
Boldly dare, gently do! this shall bring 

us bravely through. 
No surrender! No surrender! 

Nail the colors to the mast, shouting 

gladly, no surrender! 
Troubles near are all but past — serve 

them as you did the last; 
No surrender! No surrender! 

Constant and courageous still, mind, the 

word is no surrender; 
Battle though it be uphill, stagger not 
at seeming ill; 
No surrender! No surrender. i 



Hope, and thus your hope fulfill — 
There 's a way where there 's a will, 
And the way all cares to kill 
Is to give them no surrender! 



W 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



441 






3 



NOT FORGOTTEN. 

Forgotten? not forgotten, kind, good 
man, 
Though seldom fully prized at thy 
great worth : — 
I will embalm thy memory as I can, 
And send this blessing to the ends of 
earth ! 
For thou wert all things kindly unto 

all, 
Ever responsive to affection's call. 



IMPROMPTU. 



Lady, thou lovest high and holy thought, 
And noble deeds, and hopes sublime or 
beauteous; 
Thou lovest charities in secret wrought, 
And all things pure, and generous and 
duteous. 



£-> 



THE WORLD WELL LOST. 

That year? Yes, doubtless I remember 
still — 
Though why take count of every wind 
that blows! 
'T was plain, men said, that Fortune used 
me ill 
That year, — the self-same year I met 
with Rose. 

Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, 
treasure, land, 
Slipped from my hold — thus Plenty 
comes and goes. 
One friend I had, but he too loosed his 
hand 
(Or was it I?) the year I met with 
Rose. 

There was a war, methinks; some rumor, 
too, 
Of famine, pestilence, fire, deluge, 
snows; 
Things went awry. My rivals, straight in 
view, 
Throve, spite of all; but I — I met 
with Rose! 



That year my white-faced Alma pined 
and died: 
Some trouble vexed her quiet heart, — 
who knows? 
Not I, who scarcely missed her from my 
side, 
Or ought else gone, the year I met with 
Rose. 

Was there no more? Yes, that year life 
began : 
All life before a dream, false joys, light 
woes, — 
All after-life compressed within the span 
Of that one year, — the year I met with 
Rose! 



MEMORY. 



Ah memory! Why reproach me so 

With shadows of the past? 
The thrilling hopes of long ago, 

That came and went so fast. 
Ye tender tones of that dear voice, 

Ye looks of those loved eyes, 
Return and bid my heart rejoice, 

For true love never dies. 

Rejoice! word of hope! I may 

When those indeed return; 
For looks and tones so passed away 

In solitude I yearn; 
Let others fancy I forget 

The light of those dear eyes — 
I love, how I love thee yet! 

For true love never dies. 



ALL'S RIGHT. 

0, never despair at the troubles of life; 
In the midst of anxiety, pain and strife, 
The pilot beside us is steering us still; 
The champion above us is guarding from 

ill. 
Let others who know neither father nor 

friend, 
Go trembling and doubting in fear to the 

end; 
For me, on this motto I gladly depend — 
All's right! 




442 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ABSALOM. 

The waters slept. Night's silvery veil 

hung low 
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the 

still, 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 
The reeds bent down the stream: the 

willow leaves, 
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, 
Forgot the lifting winds: and the long 

stems 
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle 

nurse, 
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, 
And leaned in graceful attitude, to rest. 
How strikingly the course of nature tells 
By its light heed of human suffering, 
That it was fashioned for a happier world. 



King David's limbs were weary. He had 

fled 
From far Jerusalem: and now he stood 
With his faint people, for a little space, 
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light 

wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his 

brow 
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn 
The mourner's covering, and had not felt 
That he could see his people until now 
They gathered round him on the fresh 

green bank, 
And spoke their kindly words: and as the 

sun 
Rose up in heaven he knelt among them 

there, 
And bowed his head upon his hands to 

pray. 
Oh! when the heart is full, — when bitter 

thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for utterance, 
And the poor common words of courtesy, 
Are such a very mockery — how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in 



prayer 



He prayed for Israel: and his voice went 

up 
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for 

those 



Whose love had been his shield: and his 

deep tones 
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom, — 
For his estranged, misguided Absalom, — 
The proud bright being who had burst 

away 
In all his princely beauty, to defy 
The heart that cherished him — for him 

he poured 
In agony that would not be controlled 
Strong supplication, and forgave him 

there, 
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 
***** 

The pall was settled. He, who slept be- 
neath, 
Was straightened for the grave: and as 

the folds 
Sank to the still proportions, they be- 
trayed 
The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken 

curls 
Were floating round the tassels as they 

swayed 
To the admitted air, as glossy now 
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, 

bathing 
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. 
His helm was at his feet: his banner 

soiled 
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, 
Reversed, beside him: and the jeweled 

hilt 
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his 

blade, 
Rested like mockery on his covered brow. 
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 
Clad in the garb of battle; and their 

chief, 
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, 
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 
As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 
A slow step startled him. He grasped his 

blade 
As if a trumpet rang: but the bent form 
Of David entered, and he gave command 
In a low tone to his few followers, 
And left him with his dead. The King 

stood still 
Till the last echo died; then, throwing 

off 



J3? 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



443 



The sackcloth from his brow, and laying 

back 
The pall from the still features of his 

child, 
He bowed his head upon him, and broke 

forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe: 

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st 
die, — 
Thou who wert made so beautifully 
fair! 

That death should settle in thy glorious 
eye, 
And leave his stillness in this cluster- 
ing hair — 

How could he mark thee for the silent 
tomb, 

My proud boy, Absalom ! 

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am 

chill 
As to my bosom I have tried to press 

thee — 
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 
Like a rich harp string, yearning to 

caress thee — 
And hear thy sweet 'My father,' from 

these dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

" The grave hath won thee. I shall hear 

the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young: 
And life will pass me in the mantling 

blush, 
And the dark tresses to the soft winds 

flung — 
But thou no more with thy sweet voice 

shalt come 
To meet me, Absalom! 

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my 

heart 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be 

broken, 
How will its love for thee, as I depart, 
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last 

deep token! 
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering 

gloom, 
To see thee, Absalom! 



"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give 
thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumber on 
thee; 

And thy dark sin — oh! I could drink the 
cup 
If from its woe its bitterness had won 
thee. 

May God have called thee, like a wan- 
derer, home, 

My lost boy, Absalom !" 

He covered up his face, and bowed him- 
self 
A moment on his child: then giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer: 
And as if strength were given him of 

God, 
He rose up calmly and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, — and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 



WE LOVE BUT FEW. 

Oh, yes, we mean all kind words that we 
say 
To old friends and to new; 
Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by 
day: 
We love but few. 

We love ! we love ! What easy words to 
say, 
And sweet to hear, 
When sunrise splendor brightens all the 
way, 
And, far and near, 

Are breath of flowers and carolling of 
birds, 
Aud bells that chime; 
Our hearts are light: we do not weigh 
our words 
At morning time! 

But when the matin music all is hushed, 

And life's great load 
Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust 

Doth grow the road, 



=8£?Ctt* 



g^ 



444 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(P% 



Then do we say less often that we love. 

The words have grown! 
With pleading eyes we look to Christ 
above, 

And clasp our own. 

Their lives are bound to ours by mighty 
bands 
No mortal strait, 
Nor Death himself, with his prevailing 
hands, 
Can separate. 

Tbe world is wide, and many friends are 
dear, 
And friendships true; 
Yet^do these words read plainer, year by 
year, 
We love but few. 



A RAINY DAY. 

How tired one grows of a rainy day, 
f ' For a rainy day brings back so much ; 
Old'dreams revive that are buried away, 
And the past comes back to the sight 
and touch. 

When the night is short and the day is 
long, 
And the rain falls down with ceaseless 
beat, 
We tire of our thoughts as we tire of a 
song 
That over and over is played in the 
street. 

When I woke this morning and heard 
the splash 
Of the rain-drop over the tall elm's 
leaves, 
I'was carried back in a lightning flash 
To the dear old home with the sloping 
eaves. 

And you and I, in the garret high, 

Were playing again at hide-go-seek; 
And bright was the light of your laugh- 
ing eye, 
And rich the glow of your rounded 
cheek. 



And again I was nestled in my white bed 
Under the eaves, and hearing above 

The feet of the rain-steeds over my head, 
While I dreamed sweet dreams of you, 
my love. 

Love, my lover, with eyes of truth, — 

beautiful love of the vanished years, 
There is no other love like the love of 

youth, 

1 say it over and over with tears. 

Wealth and honor and fame may come, — 
They cannot replace what is taken 
away; 
There is no other home like the child- 
hood's home, 
No other love like the love of May. 

Though the sun is bright in the mid-day 
skies, 
There cometh an hour when the sad 
heart grieves 
With a lonely wail, like a lost child's cry, 
For the trundle-bed and the sloping 
eaves; 

When, with vague unrest and nameless 
pain, 
We hunger and thirst for a voice and 
touch 
That we never on earth shall know 
again — 
Oh, a rainy day brings back so much! 



FRIENDS. 



True friends are like diamonds; precious 

but rare. 
False ones, like autumn leaves, found 

everywhere. 



GRATITUDE. 



The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so 

long 
That it had its head bit off bv its young. 

^5 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



445 



1 



THE PARVENUE'S OPINION. 

Novus, whose silly claim to " high posi- 
tion " 
Is geuuine, if wealth cau make it true; 
A youth whose stock — petrolean, not 
patrician — 
Shines none the less for being fresh 
and new, — 
Standing before a flaming placai-d sees, 
Announcing thus the lecture of the 
night, 
By Everett— " The Age of Pericles!" 

Nocks, half doubting if he reads aright, 
Repeats the words (soliloquizing loud) 

" The Age of Pericles ! — I wonder now 
Why such a theme should gather all this 
crowd 
That throngs the door with such a 
mighty row; 
There is n't one among 'em, I '11 engage, 
Who cares a fig about the fellow's age ! " 



LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP. 

There's a proverb, wise and true — 

Keep it ever in your mind — 
What your hands may find to do, 

Never do with purpose blind, 
Lest you stumble and you fall, 

Wide awake your senses keep; 
'T is a motto good for all — 

Always "look before you leap!" 

This will save a world of harm 

That we never might repair; 
And it nerves the weakest arm 

Just to know our way is fair; 
Recollect the silly frog, 

And this proverb ever keep; 
While the path of life you jog, 

Always "look before you leap!" 



CHEAP ENOUGH. 

They've a saying in Italy, pointed and 

terse, 
That a pretty girl's smiles are the tears 

of the purse. 
"What matter?" said Charley, "Can 

diamonds be cheap? 
Let lovers be happy, though purses should 

weep ! " 




THE THREE WIVES. 

My First was a lady whose dominant 

passion 
Was thorough devotion to parties and 

fashion; 
My Second, regardless of conjugal duty, 
Was only the worse for her wonderful 

beauty; 
My Third was a vixeu in temper and life, 
Without one essential to make a good 

wife. 
Jubilate! at last in my freedom I revel, 
For I'm clear of the World, and the 

Flesh, and the Devil! 



THE BEAUTIFUL. TO STELLA. 

All things of beauty are not theirs alone 
Who hold the fee; but unto him no 
less 
Who can enjoy, than unto them who own, 

Are sweetest uses given to possess. 
For Heaven is bountiful; and suffers 
none 
To make monopoly of aught that's 
fair; 
The breath of violets is not for one, 

Nor loveliness of women; all may share 
Who can discern ; and he who made the 
law, 
" Thou shalt not covet," gave the sub- 
tile power 
By which, unsinning, I may freely draw 
Beauty and fragrance from each per- 
fect flower 
That decks the wayside, or adorns the lea, 
Or in my neighbor's garden blooms for 
me! 



MELANCHOLY. 

Go! you may call it madness, folly — 
You shall not chase my gloom away; 

There 's such a charm in melancholy, 
I would not if I could be gay. 



Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure 
That fills my bosom when I sigh, 

You would not rob me of a treasure 
Monarchs are too poor to buy. 




Vfc 






446 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cP] 



AN APPLE GATHERING. 

I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple- 
tree, 
And wore them all that evening in my 
hair; 
Then in due season when I went to see 
I found no apples there. 

With dangling basket all along the grass 
As I had come I went the self-same 
track: 
My neighbors mocked me while they saw 
me pass 
So empty-handed back. 

Lillian and Lillias smiled in trudging by, 
Their heaped up basket teased me like 
a jeer; 
Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sun- 
set sky, 
Their mother's home was near. 

Plump Gertrude passed me with her 
basket full, 
A stronger hand than hers helped it 
along; 
A voice talked with her through the 
shadows cool 
More sweet to me than song. 

Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth 
Than apples with their green leaves 
piled above, 

I counted rosiest apples on the earth 
Of far less worth than love. 

So once it was with me you stooped to 
talk, 
Laughing and listening in this very 
lane: 
To think that by this way we used to 
walk 
We shall not walk again. 

I let my neighbors pass me, ones and 
twos, 
And groups; the latest said the night 
grew chill, 
And hastened; but I loitered, while the 
dews 
Fell fast 1 loitered still. 



"NO, THANK YOU, JOHN." 

I never said I loved you John: 

Why will yOu tease me day by day, 

And wax a weariness to think upon 
With always "do 11 and "pray"? 

You know I never loved you, John: 
No fault of mine made me your toast: 

Why will you haunt me with a face as 
wan 
As shows an hour-old ghost? 

I dare say Meg or Mol would take 

Pity upon you if you 'd ask: 
And pray don't remain single for my 
sake, 

Who can 't perform that task. 

I have no heart? — Perhaps I have not; 

But then you 're mad to take offence 
That I do n't give you what I have not 
got: 

Use your own common sense. 

Let by-gones be by-gones: 

Don 't call me false who owned not to 
be true: 
I 'd rather answer " No " to fifty Johns 

Than answer "Yes" to you. 

Let 's mar our pleasant days no mare, 
Song-birds of passage, days of youth: 

Catch at to-day, forget the days before: 
I '11 wink at your untruth. 

Let us strike hands as hearty friends; 

No more, no less; and friendship's 
good. 
Only do n't keep in view ulterior ends, 

And points not understood 

In open treaty. Rise above 

Quibbles and shuffling off and on: 

Here 's friendship for you if you like; but 
love, — 
No, thank you, John. 



LOVE. 



Earth holds no other like to thee; 
Or if it doth, in vain for me. 



■r-LX. 




A BOOK OFJIPOEMS 



447 






THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE. 

memories of green and pleasant places, 
Where happy birds their woodnotes 
twittered low! 

love, that lit the dear, familiar faces 
We buried long ago! 

From barren heights their sweetness we 
remember, 
And backward gaze with wistful, yearn- 
ing eyes, 
As hearts regret, mid snow-drifts of 
December, 
The summer's sunny skies. 

Glad hours, that seemed their rainbow 
tints to borrow 
From some illumined page of fairy lore; 
Bright days that never lacked a bright 
to-morrow, 
Days that return no more. 

Fair gardens, with their many-blossomed 
alleys, 
And red, ripe roses breathing out per- 
fume; 
Deep violet nooks, in green, sequestered 
valleys, 
Empurpled o'er with bloom. 

Sunset that lighted up the brown-leaved 
beeches, 
Turning their dusky glooms to glitter- 
ing gold; 
Moonlight that on the river's fern-fringed 
beaches 
Streamed white-rayed, silvery cold. 

O'er moorlands bleak we wander weary- 
hearted, 
Through many a tangled, wild and 
thorny maze, 
Remembering, as in dreams, the days de- 
parted, 
The by-gone, happy days. 



A DAME. 



I 



A dame there is, the darling of my eyes, 
Chaste, though not rich, innocent and 



n 



wise. 



SONGS IN SLEEP. 

If I could frame for you in cunning 
words 
The songs my heart in sleep is often 
singing, 
You 'd fancy, love, an orchestra of birds 
Upon their quivering throats the dawn 
were bringing. 

Now in some wild, weird flush of melody 
vl'd feign the skylark, with his music 

sifting 
The final films of nightshade from the 

lea, 
And all the waking world to heaven 

uplifting. _j _ j| 

Then, ere the lengthening liquid solo 
went — 
In skylark fashion — out of hearing 
o'er us, 
I 'd mock with skill, as sweet as my in- 
tent, 
Thrustle and blackbird coming in for 
chorus. 

There 's not a strain of joy the birds could 
sing 
I could not set to words that I 've been 
dreaming; 
But when I wake, alas! they all take 
wing, 
And leave of music but the empty 
seeming. 

Believe me, love, I sing to you, in sleep, . 
Songs that, if voiced, but waken you to 
pleasure; 
Would you could hear them in your 
dreams, and keep 
Their inner meaning, though you 
missed the measure. 



LIVE WELL. 



Live well; how long or short, permit to 

heaven; 
They who forgive most shall be most 



forgiven. 



*} 



>n 









448 



A JBOOK OF POEMS 




OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS 
COURTSHIP OF DESDEMONA. 

Most potent, grave, and reverend segniors, 
My very noble and approved good mas- 
ters, — 

That I have ta'en away this old man's 

daughter, 
Is most true; true, I have married her; 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I 

in my speech, 
And little bless'd with the set phrase of 

peace ; 
For since these arms of mine had seven 

years' pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they 

have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field; 
And little of this great world can I speak, 
More than pertains to feats of broil and 

battle ; 
And therefore little shall I grace my 

cause, 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your 

gracious patience, 
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, 

what charms, 
What conjuration, and what mighty 

magic 
(For such proceeding I am charged 

withal,) 
I won his daughter with. 



Her father loved me; oft invited me; 
Still cpaestioned me the story of my life, 
From year to year; the battles, sieges, 

fortunes, 
That I have pass'd. 
I ran it through, even from my boyish 

days, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell 

it. 
Wherein I spake of most disastrous 

chances, 
Of moving accident by flood and field, 
Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent 

deadly breach; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 



And sold to slavery; of my redemption 

thence 
And portance in my travel's history: 
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 
Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose 

heads touch heaven, 
It was my hint to speak; — such was the 

process; — 
And of the cannibals that each other eat, 
The Anthropophagi, and men whose 

heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This 

to hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
But still the house affairs would draw 

her thence; 
Which ever as she could with haste de- 
spatch, 
She'd come again and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse: which I observ- 
ing, 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good 

means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest 

heart, 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
Whereof by parcels she had something 

heard, 
But not intentively. I did consent; 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
When I did speak of some distressful 

stroke 
That my youth suffer'd. My story being 

done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of 

sighs: 

She swore — In faith, 'twas strange, 

'twas passing strange; 
She wish'd she had not heard it; yet she 

wish'd 
That Heaven had made her such a man: 

she thank'd me; 
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved 

her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my 

story, 
And that would woo her. Upon this 

hint, I spake: 
She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd; . 
And I loved her that she did pity them. 
This only is the witchcraft I have used. 



VJ 




H 
I 
m 

o 
m 
m 

CO 
30 

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A BOOK OF POEMS 




SIGNING THE FARM AWAY. 

Fine old farm, for a hundred years 

Kept in the family name; 
Cornfields rich with golden ears 

Oft as the harvest came; 
Crowded barn and crowded bin, 
And still the loads kept coming in — 
Rolling in for a hundred years; 
And the fourth in the family line appears. 

Orchard covered the slopes of the hill; 

Cider — forty barrels they say — 
Sure in season to come from the mill; 

To be tasted round Thanksgiving Day ! 
And they drank as they worked, and they 

drank as they ate, 
Winter and summer, early and late, 
Counting it as a great mishap 
To be found "without a barrel on tap." 

But, while the seasons crept along, 

And passions into habits grew, 
Their appetites became as strong, 

As ever a drunkard knew. 
And they labored less and they squan- 
dered more, 
Chiefly for rum at the village store, 
Till called by the sheriff, one bitter day, 
To sign the homestead farm away. 

The father, shattered and scented with 
rum; 

The mother, sick and pale and thin, 
Under the weight of her sorrows dumb, 

In debt for the bed she was dying in; 
Oh, I saw the wrecked household around 

her stand — 
And the justice lifted her trembling hand, 
Helping her, as in her pain she lay, 
To sign the homestead farm away. 

Ah, how she wept! And the flood of 
tears 

Swept down her temples bare ! 
And the father, already bowed with years, 

Bowed lower with despair! 
Drink! Drink! It had ripened into woe 
For them and all they loved below, 
And forced them poor, and old and gray, 
To sign the homestead farm away. 
irP 



Oh, many scenes have I met in life. 

And many a call to pray; 
But the saddest of all was the drunkard's 
wife 

Signing the farm away; 
Home once richest in all the town, 
Home, in that fatal cup poured down, 
Worse than fire or flood's dismay — 
Drunkard signing the farm away! 



THE MINIATURE. 

William was holding in his hand 

The likeness of his wife; 
Fresh, as if touched with fairy wand, 

With beauty, grace and life! 
He almost thought it spoke: — he gazed 

Upon his treasure still; 
Absorbed, delighted and amazed, 

He viewed the artist's skill! 

u This picture is yourself, dear Jane! 

'T is drawn to nature true! 
I 've kissed it o'er and o'er again, 

It is so much like you! " 
"And has it kissed you. back, my dear!" 

"Why — no — my love!" said he. 
"Then, William, it is very clear, 

T is not at all like me!" 



RIVALRY IN LOVE. 

Of all the torments, all the cares, 

With which our lives are curst; 
Of all the plagues a lover bears, 

Sure, rivals are the worst! 
By partners of each other kind, 

Afflictions easier grow; 
In love alone we hate to find 

Companions of our woe. 

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see 

Are labouring in my breast; 
I beg not you would favor me, 

Would you but slight the rest. 
How great soe'er your rigours are, 

With them alone I'll cope; 
I can endure my own despair, 

But not another's hope. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE PRIDE OF BEAUTY. 

A gallant youth, whose lady-love pos- 
sessed 

The rarest charms to fire the manly 
breast, 

Was so enamored of the beautious maid, 

That to the powers above — below — he 
prayed, 

Right fervently, to make her beauty less; 

Nay, turn it, if they would, to ugliness; 

That so it might be shown his constant 
flame, 

Despite the change, would glow for her 
the same. 
This strange request no sooner Satan 
heard, 

Than, quick as thought, he took him at 
his word, 

And, by such arts as only Satan knows, 

The deed was done! — away her beauty 
goes! 

And now before her mirror see her stand, 

No more the " fairest lady in the land," 

But such a Hecate, such a very fright, 

She shrieked aloud, and shuddered at the 
sight. 

And Satan laughed! But still the lover 
swore 

In very sooth he loved her as before ! 

" faithful soul!" she said; but little 
less 

The woman mourned her vanished love- 
liness. 

" My beauty gone!" the weeping damsel 
cried; 

" To come to this! Ah, would that I had 
died!" 

In short, she wept at such a frantic rate, 

The very fiend took pity on her fate, 

And soon was fain her beauty to restore. 

And now behold her at her glass once 
more. 

Handsome as Helen when, with radiant 
charms, 

She summoned Paris to her waiting arms; 

More beautiful, indeed, than in the hour 

She knew the demon's disenchanting 
power; 

For, while the fiend called back her for- 
mer face, 

He slyly added many a winning grace. 



"And now," she said, " I 'm sure you love 

me more, 
Ay, twice as much as e'er you did before." 
" Nay," said the lover, " as I loved no less 
When once I saw your beauty in dis- 
tress, — 
No more, my sweet, this added grace may 

claim 
Than my whole heart, — I love you but 

the same!" 
"Adieu!" shesaid; "to me 'tis very clear 
Heaven sends us beauty but to make us 

dear; 
And well I see my love were thrown away 
On one so dull that he can coolly say, 
' Who cares — not I! — how beautiful you 

be? 
Handsome or homely, all is one to me! ' " 



NEAR THE LAKE. 

Near the lake where droop'd the willow, 

Long time ago! 
Where the rock threw back the billow, 

Brighter than snow; 
Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherish'd, 

By high and low; 
But with autumn's leaf she perish'd, 

Long time ago! 

Rock and tree and flowing water, 

Long time ago! 
Bee and bird and blossom taught her 

Love's spell to know! 
While to my fond words she listen'd, 

Murmuring low, 
Tenderly her dove-eyes glisten'd, 

Long time ago! 

Mingled were our hearts for ever! 

Long time ago! 
Can I now forget her? — Never! 

No, lost one, no! 
To her grave these tears are given, 

Ever to flow; 
She 's the star I miss'd from heaven, 

Long time ago! 

^4 



x^j^. 



& 



*r-r. 



4 



52 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE DAYS THAT ARE PAST. 

We will not deplore them, the days that 

are past; 
The gloom of misfortune is over them 

cast; 
They are lengthened by sorrow and sullied 

by care; 
Their griefs were too many, their joys 

were too rare; 
Yet now that their shadows are on us no 

more, 
Let us welcome the prospect that 

brightens before! 

We have cherished fair hopes, we have 
plotted brave schemes, 

We have lived till we find them as illu- 
sive as dreams; 

Wealth has melted like snow that is 
grasped in the hand, 

And the steps we have climbed have de- 
parted like sand; 

Yet shall we despond while of health un- 
bereft, 

And honor, bright honor, and freedom 
are left? 

0, shall we despond, while the pages of 

time 
Yet open before us their records sublime ! 
While, ennobled by treasures more 

precious than gold, 
We can walk with the martyrs and 

heroes of old; 
While humanity whispers such truths in 

the ear, 
As it softens the heart like sweet music 

to hear? 

0! shall we despond while, with visions 

still free, 
We can gaze on the sky, and the earth, 

and the sea; 
While the sunshine can waken a burst 

of delight, 
And the stars are a joy and a glory by 

night; 
While each harmony, running through 

nature, can raise 
In our spirits the impulse of gladness 

and praise? 

McP 



! let us no longer then vainly lament 
Over scenes that are faded and days that 

are spent: 
But, by faith unforsaken, unawed by 

mischance, 
On hope's waving banner still fixed be 

our glance; 
And, should fortune prove cruel and 

false to the last, 
Let us look to the future, and not to the 

past! 



A HAPPY MAN. 

A man of no regrets, he goes his happy 
way, 

Owing the past no load of debts the pres- 
ent cannot pay: 

He wedded his first love, nor loved 
another since; 

He sets his nobler hopes above; he reigns 
in joy a prince. 

A man of no regrets, he hath no cares to 

vex, 
No secret griefs, nor mental debts, nor 

troubles to perplex; 
A man of no regrets^ upon his empire 

free, 
The sun of gladness never sets, — then 

who so rich as he. 



REMEMBRANCE. 

Go, leave me to weep for the years that 
are past. 
For my youth, and its friends, and its 
pleasures all dead; 
My spring and my[summer are fading too 
fast, 
And I long^to live over the days that 
are fled. 

It is not for sorrows or sins on my track 
That I mournfully cast my fond yearn- 
ings behind; 
Ah no! — from affection I love to look 
back; 
It is only my heart that has wedded 
my mind. A 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE TURNING OF ORPHEUS. 

So they toiled upward in the narrow way; 
And Orpheus felt the inclination grow 
To turn and look upon her following. 
For, through the crowded measure of his 

thoughts — 
The weary quest, the pride of end at- 
tained — 
The echo of her footsteps there behind, 
Crept always in and out like undertone 
In music. Ever and anon he heard 
The rustle of her garments; saw before, 
Upon the gloomy slope, her shadow go 
Like frightened ghost fled from the fires 

behind, 
And trembling more with each step to- 
ward, release. 

Once, where the way was dark and very 
steep, 

She pressed so close that her long fra- 
grant hair 

Swept like fresh, wind-blown leaves along 
his side; 

And on his hand was her hot, panting 
breath, 

Then half he turned, with thought to 
comfort her; 

Remembered, and stood still; and trem- 
bling said: 

"Not so, sweet love," and then again 
" Not so," 

And gathering all his sinews like a deer 

Affrighted, ran, without a glance aside, 

And left temptation toiling far behind. 

Anon he took his lyre and let his hand 
Go wandering here and there among the 

strings. 
Touching long, dreamy chords of radiant 

sound; 
And each recalled Eurydice. This strain 
Had echoed her first kindling tones of 

love; 
And that attuned their common hymn of 

praise 
At many a ruddy morning sacrifice. 
So struggling in this net of vanished 

days — 
Ah, days forever sweet for her sweet 

sake — 



His feet went slower, and he did not heed 
How she drew nearer, dragging leaden 

feet, 
And weeping, half in weakness, half in 

fear. 
Nor how she strove to reach him, seeing 

not 
The roughness of the road, and stumbling 

oft; 
Till as she stretched her hand to touch 

his cloak, 
Her weary limbs forsook her and she fell, 
And falling called to him — that panting 

cry 
Cut like a knife the meshes of his dream ; 
And knowing only that she stood in need 
And called him, he let fall the lyre and 

turned. 



MY MARY, 



And thee! my Mary, what of thee? the 

beauty of thy face? 
The coyly-pretty whims and ways that 

ray thee round with grace ? 
0, more than these; a dear, warm heart, 

that still must thrill and glow, 
With pure affection's sunshine, and with 

kindness overflow. 



A VALENTINE. 

In phrase uncouth, or full of grace, 
With question apt or out of place, 
'Midst pictured hearts and gentle doves, 
And smiling troops of little Loves, 
The world puts by its grief and fear, 
And (wisely foolish) once a year, 
Sings still, in earnest or in glee, 
Friend, [ love you — do you love me? 



OUR LIVES. 



Our lives are albums written through 
With good or ill — with false or true — 
And as the blessed angels turn 

The pages of our years, 
God grant they read the good with 
smiles, 
And blot the bad with tears. 




454 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




NEVER GIVE UP. 

Never give up! it is wiser and better, 

Always to hope than once to despair; 
Fling off the load of doubt's cankering 
fetter, 
And break the dark spell of tyrannical 
care: 
Never give up! or the burden may sink 
you; 
Providence kindly has mingled the cup, 
And in all trials or troubles bethink you, 
The watchword of life must be, never 
give up. 



HAWTHORN. 

I see her where the budding May 
Throws shadows on the grassy way 

And flecks her robe of white; 
Unseen, I watch her as she stands, 
With fragrant hawthorn in her hands, 

A vision of delight. 

She stays, but will not tarry long 
To hear the thrush's vernal song 

In blossom- boughs above; 
And in my sheltered garden-seat, 
I, too, can hear the carol sweet 

Of songster's happy love. 

From out the leaves that shade my face 
I watch her in her girlish grace, 

The daughter of my friend, 
On whose sweet life, for whose sweet sake, 
Love hath such precious things at stake, 

In whom such heart ties-blend. 

My May-day maiden, thought runs back 
O'er that long-trodden, sun-lit track, 

My own evanished youth, 
When I, like her, was young and fair, 
Like her, untouched by worldly care, 

Unscarred by broken truth. 

Like her, with sunshine on my way, 
With scented blossoms of life's May 

Plucked ready for my hand; 
Like her, embarked on life's full tide 
For joy's glad port, and by my side 
s _True love at my command. 



But shadows dimmed my summer day, 
The blossoms of my early May 

Lie buried in a grave. 
Hope's tide ebbed out afar from port, 
And left my little bark the sport 

Of fortune's wind and wave. 

Ah, well! the thrush's song is done, 
And she steps forward in the sun, 

She comes toward my bower, 
To glad my weary, tear-dimmed eyes, 
To lay before me as a prize 

Her spray of hawthorn flower. 

Dear heart! she brings me more than 

May; 
The sunlight of a far-off day 

Shines on me from her face 
Her heart renews for mine the truth, 
The hope and springtide of its youth, 

In all their early grace. 

She looks at me with eyes of love, 
Like those the turf has lain above 

For many a weary day; 
God bless her! for she brings again, 
Across a lifetime's silent pain, 

My unf orgotten May. 



ALL'S FOR THE BEST. 



All 's for the best, be sanguine and cheer- 
ful; 
Trouble and sorrow are friends in 
disguise; 
Nothing but folly goes faithless and 
fearful; 
Courage forever is happy and wise: 

All 's for the best ! then fling away ter- 
rors, 
Meet all your fears and your foes in 
the van, 
And in the midst of your dangers or 
errors, 
Trust like a child while you strive like 
a man. 

All 's for the best ! — unbiased, unbounded, 
Providence reigus from the east to the 
west; 
And by both wisdom and mercy sur- 
rounded, 
Hope and be happy that all's for the 
best. ! 



A 



& 






o 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



455° 



THE BOTTOM DRAWER. 

In the best chamber of the house, 

Shut up in dim, uncertain light, 
There stood an antique chest of drawers, 

Of foreign wood, with brasses bright. 
One day a woman, frail and gray, 

Stepped totteringly across the floor — 
"Let in," said she, "the light of day, 

Then, Jean, unlock the bottom drawer." 

The girl, in all youth's loveliness, 

Knelt down with eager, curious face; 
Perchance she dreamt of Indian silks, 

Of jewels, and of rare old lace. 
But when the summer sunshine fell 

Upon the treasures hoarded there, 
The tears rushed to her tender eyes, 

Her heart was solemn as a prayer. 

"Dear grandmamma," she softly sighed, 

Lifting a withered rose and palm; 
But on the elder face was nought 

But sweet content and peaceful calm. 
Leaning upon her staff, she gazed 

Upon a baby's half- worn shoe; 
A little frock of finest lawn; 

A hat with tiny bows of blue; 

A ball made fifty years ago; 

A little glove; a tasselled cap; 
A half-done "long division" sum; 

Some school-books fastened with a 
strap. 
She touched them all, with trembling 
lips — 
"How much," she said, "the heart can 
bear! 
Ah, Jean! I thought that I should die 
The day that first I laid them there. 

"But now it seems so good to know 
That through these weary, troubled 
years, 
Their hearts have been untouched by 
grief, 
Their eyes have been unstained by 
tears. 
Dear Jean, we see with clearer sight 
When earthly love is almost o'er; 
Those children wait me in the skies, 
, For whom I locked that sacred drawer." 

mcP 



MOTHER'S SHINGLE. 

The golden lessons learned in youth, 

Can never wholly fade, 
While sitting down recalls the wounds, 

That hemlock shingle made. 
For where my trowser legs unite, 

And in one garment mingle, 
Those rules were traced in red and white, 

By mother's hemlock shingle. 

My mother was as kind a soul 

As ever trod this sphere: 
And over naked naughty boys 

She wasted many a tear; 
But never did she condescend 

Her tears with mine to mingle, 
When 'cross her knee she made me bend, 

To take a dose of shingle. 

I am not the best of men, 

I doubtless ne'er will be ; 
I use bad language now and then, 

And sometimes have a spree; 
But evil deeds more often still 

Would with my follies mingle, 
Had I less often chance to feel 

My mother's hemlock shingle. 



OFT AS THINE EYE. 

Oft as thine eye shall fondly trace 

These simple lines I sketch for thee, 
Whate'er the time, where'er the place, 
think of me. 

When pleasure sparkles in thine eye, 

And every scene is fair to see, 
When swift away the moments fly, 
then remember me. 



OH, FOR A HOME. 

Oh, for a home in Zul aland, or Arctic 

regions cold, 
A peasant's cot or hermit's hut, 'midst 

solitude untold, 
With Kaffirs or with Hottentots, in 

Egypt or Leone — ■ 
'Twere bliss to live in any spot where 

pretty girls are known. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






THERE'S MANY A TROUBLE. 

There 's many a trouble 

Would break like a bubble, 
And into the waters of Lethe depart, 

Did not we rehearse it 

And tenderly nurse it, 
And give it a permanent place in the 
heart. 

Resolve to be merry, 
All worry to ferry 
Across the famed waters that bid us for- 
get. 
And no longer fearful, 
But happy and cheerful, 
We feel that life has much that 's worth 
living for yet. 



LET US TRY TO BE HAPPY. 

Let us try to be happy, we may if we will 

Find some pleasure in life to o'erbalance 
the ill. 

There was never an evil, if well under- 
stood, 

But what, rightly managed, would turn 
to a good. 

If we were but as ready to look to the 

light 
As we are to sit moping because it is 

night, 
We would own it a truth, both in word 

and in deed 
That who tries to be happy is sure to 

succeed. 

Let us only in earnestness each do our 

best, 
Before God and our conscience, and trust 

for the rest, 
Still taking the truth, both in word and 

in deed, 
That who tries to be happy is sure to 

succeed. 



A COWARD. 



He is a coward who will not turn back, 
When first he discovers he 's on the 
wrong track. 



THE FUTURE LIFE. 

How shall I know thee iu the sphere 
which keeps 
The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither 
sleeps 
And perishes among the dust we tread? 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless 
pain, 

If there I meet thy gentle presence not; 
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 

In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me 
there? 
That heart whose fondest throbs to me 
were given? 
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, 
Shall it be banished from thy tongue 
in heaven? 



IT IS UNLUCKY. 

To be struck by lightning on Monday. 
To get cut with a buzz-saw on Tuesday. 
To fall down stairs, with the parlor stove 

on your back, on Wednesday. 
To marry a girl who plays on a piano on 

Thursday. 
To be one of thirteen at the table, when 
there is scarce food enough for six, 
on Friday. 
To see a bill collector, over your left 
shoulder, and no money to foot the 
bill, on Saturday. 
To quarrel with your wife because a but- 
ton happens to be off your shirt, 
on Sunday. 
To break the mirror your dear mother-in- 
law gave to your wife, on any day, 
or dispute with her at any 
time. 



CLINGING. 



If you only cling to those who cling to 

you, 
In the end there will be but a precious 

few. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



457 



, 



IN THE STORMS OF THIS LIFE. 

In the storms of this life, 

When you need an umbrella, 

May you have to uphold it 
A handsome young fellow. 



FRIENDS. 



Among the many friends that claim 

A kind remembrance in thy breast, 
I, too, would add my simple name 
Among the rest. 



MY FIRST LOVE, AND MY LAST. 

Cathara, when the many silent tears 

Of beauty, bending o'er thy dying bed, 

Bespoke the change familiar to our fears, 

I could not think thy spirit yet had 

fled — 

So like to life the slumber death had cast 

On thy sweet face, my first love and my 

last. 

I watch'd to see those lids their light un- 
fold, 
For still thy forehead rose serene and 
fair, 

As when those raven ringlets richly roll'd 
O'er life, which dwelt in thought and 
beauty there; 

Thy cheek the while was rosy with the 
theme 

That flush'd along the spirit's mystic 
dream. 

Thy lips were circled with that silent 
smile 
Which oft around their dewy fresh- 
ness woke, 

When some more happy thought or 
harmless wile 
Upon thy warm and wandering fancy 
broke; 

For thou wert Nature's child, and took 
the tone 

Of every pulse, as if it were thine own. 



I watch'd, and still believed that thou 

wouldst wake, 
When others came to place thee in the 

shroud: 
I thought to see this seeming slumber 

break, 
As I have seen a light, transparent 

cloud 
Disperse, which o'er a star's sweet face 

had thrown 
A shadow like to that which veil'd thine 

own. 



But, no: there was no token, look, or 
breath : 
The tears of those around, the tolling 
bell 

And hearse told us at last that this was 
death ! 
I know not if I breathed a last fare- 
well; 

But since that day my sweetest hours 
have pass'd 

In thought of thee, my first love and my 
last. 



CONTENTMENT. 

Yes, in a trial world like this, 
Where all that comes is sent, 

Learn how divine a thing it is 
To smile and be content. 



THE SWEETEST MOMENT. 

The sweetest moment in a lover's life 
Is when his sweetheart says she '11 be his 
wife. 



HIGH HATS. 



High hats with ladies now are all the 
rase. 



Who sits behind one never sees the stage 



^bfe 






458 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






TO A FALSE FRIEND. 

Oh world! Thy slippery turns! Friends, 

now fast sworn, 
Whose double bosom seemed to wear one 

heart; 
Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, 

whose exercise, 
Are still together; who twine as 't were 

in love 
Inseparable — shall within this hour, 
On the dissension of a doit, break out 

To bitter enmity. 

I have no harsh or unkind word, dear 

friend, to breathe to thee; 
It is not mine to act the part which thou 

hast played to me; 
I have no malice now, no wish of evil on 

my lip; 
No stagnant pool of foul revenge, in which 

my pen to dip. 



We have been friends together once, but 

now the time is past; 
Those halcyon days and sunny hours, they 

were too sweet to last; 
And now there 's coldness in thy glance, a 

cloud is on thy brow; 
Yet as my heart was wont to beat, so 

beats it even now. 



Although the pulse of time is changed, 

and yet I know not how, 
But through gay fancy's telescope, I see 

thy bright form now; 
I loved thee with a brother's love, I 

fondly clung to thee 
As the vine clings with its tendrils round 

the tall proud forest tree. 



So 

As 
Bu 

At 

kP 



clung this poor forsaken heart, this 

lonely heart of mine, 
if its own existence here was linked, 

dear friend, with thine ; 
t wherefore need I tell the tale, the 

tale thou know'st so well, 
most 'twill only make my breast yet 

more tumultuous swell. 



It cannot melt thy flinty heart to feel one 

sad regret, 
As thy proud eye with keen remorse was 

never moistened yet; 
But let thy path, where 'er it be, o'er land 

or treacherous sea; 
May heaven forgetful of my wrongs, 

watch ceaseless over thee. 

'er thy familiar form be stretched its 

strong protecting arm, 
To succor thee when danger threats, or 

wrathful foes alarm; 
And now adieu! false, fleeting friend, 

may it be well with thee; 
And time and space from memory's chart 

blot out each thought of me. 



WILLIAM TELL IN WAIT FOR 
GESSLER. 

Here thro' this deep defile he needs must 
pass. 

There leads no other road to Kussnacht: 
here 

I'll do it — the opportunity is good. 

Yon alder tree stands well for my con- 
cealment. 

Thence my avenging shaft will surely 
reach him ! 

The straightness of the path forbids pur- 
suit. 

Now, Gressler, balance thine account with 
heaven! 

Thou must away from earth — thy sand is 
run. 

I led a peaceful, inoffensive life; 

My bow was bent on forest game alone, 

And my pure soul was free from thoughts 

of murder. 
But thou hast scared me from my dream 

of peace; 
The milk of human kindness thou hast 

turned 
To rankling poison in my breast, and 

made 
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. 
He who could make his own child's head 

his mark, 
Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heajrt,/ 



• r 



Fb 



9d 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



459 



My children dear, ray loved and faithful 
wife, 

Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury! 

When last I drew my bow, with trem- 
bling hand, 

And thou, with murderous joy, a father 
forced 

To level at his child — when all in vain, 

Writhing before thee, I implored thy 
mercy — 

Then, in the agony of my soul I vowed 

A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, 

That when my bow next winged an ar- 
row's flight 

Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I 
made 

Amid the hellish torments of that mo- 
ment 

I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. 



Thou art, my lord, my emperor's dele- 
gate; 

Yet would the emperor not have stretched 
his power 

So far as thou. He sent thee to these 
cantons 

To deal for law — stern law — for he is 
angered ; 

But not to wanton with unbridled will 

In every cruelty with fiend-like joy — 

There is a God to punish and avenge. 



Well, I am watching for a noble prey ! 
Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, 
Roam for whole days amid the winter's 

cold, 
Leap with a daring bound from rock to 

rock, 
And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to 

which 
His limbs are glued by his own streaming 

blood — 
And all this but to gain a wretched 

chamois ? 
A far more precious prize is now my 

aim — 
The heart of that dire foe who would 

destroy me. 



From ray first years of boyhood I have 

used 
The bow — been practised in the archer's 

feats; 
The bull's eye many a time my shafts 

have hit, 
And many a goodly prize have I brought 

home, 
Won in the game of skill. This day I '11 

make 
My master-shot, and win the highest 

prize 
Within the whole circumference of the 

mountains. 



Come forth thou bringer once of bitter 

pangs, 

[Draivs an arrow from his belt] 
My precious jewel now — my chiefest 

treasure — 
A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of 

grief 
Could never penetrate — but thou shalt 

pierce it; 
And thou, my trusty bow-string, that so 

oft 
Has served me faithfully in sportive 

scenes, 
Desert me not in this most serious hour; 
Only be true this once, my own good cord, 
Thou hast so often winged the biting 

shaft; 
For shouldst thou fly successless from my 

hand, 
I have no second to send after thee. 



WOES. 



ScP 



•V 



0, who can measure that sweet maiden's 

woes 
Who has a beau too bashful to propose? 



MY WIFE AND SON. 

Cod save them from ill, whatever comes 
to me. 



OT5 




460 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




JUBILATE. 

Beyond the light-house, standing sentinel 
Just where the line of earth and ocean 
meet, 
The foam-crowned rollers slowly rose and 
fell 
Upon the low reef with a murmurous 
heat. 

And sweeping far away, like rippled gold, 
Lay the wide bosom of the restless sea, 

Where a brave ship down to the sky-line 
rolled, 
Bearing afar the one must dear to me. 

Slowly the broad moon dipped into the 
west, 
And for a moment hung the waves 
above; 
While borne along the ocean's lighted 
breast 
The stout ship swiftly 'fore the strong 
wind drove. 

Right in the sinking sphere she sailed at 
last, 
Her tall sails bearing her right bravely 
on; 
Out flashed a radiance, gilding hull and 
mast, 
And in a moment ship and moon were 
gone. 

And seeing this, my heart grew glad and 
light. 
Though storms may roar against the 
restless main, 
I know there is a limit to their might, 
And I shall have my sweetheart's kiss 
again. 



MY CIGARETTE. 

My cigarette! The amulet 

That charms afar unrest and sorrow; 
The magic wand that far beyond 

To-day can conjure up to-morrow. 
Like love's desire, thy crown of fire 

So softly with the twilight blending; 
And ah! meseems, a poet's dreams 

Are in thy wreaths of smoke ascending. 



My cigarette ! Can I forget 

How Kate and I, in sunny weather, 
Sat in the shade the elm-tree made, 

And rolled the fragrant weed together? 
I at her side beatified, 

To hold and guide her fingers willing; 
She rolling slow the paper's snow, 

Putting my heart in with the filling. 

My cigarette ! I see her yet, 

The white smoke from her red lips 
curling, 
Her dreaming eyes, her soft replies, 

Her gentle sighs, her laughter purling! 
Ah, dainty roll, whose parting soul 

Ebbs out in many a snowy billow, 
I, too, would burn if I might earn 

Upon her lips so soft a pillow! 

Ah, cigarette! The gay coquette 

Has long forgot the flames she lighted, 
And you and I, unthinking by 

Alike are thrown, alike are slighted. 
The darkness gathers fast without, 

A rain-drop on my window plashes; 
My cigarette and heart are out, 

And naught is left me but the ashes. 



AN OLD SONG. 

You laugh as you turn the yellow page 
Of that queer old song you sing, 

And wonder how folks could ever see 

A charm in the'simple melody 
Of such an old-fa,shioned thing. 

That yellow page was fair to view, 
That quaint old type was fresh and new, 
That simple strain was our delight 
When here we gathered night by night, 
And thought the music of our day 
An endless joy to sing and play, 

In our youth, long, long ago. 
A joyous group we loved to meet, 
When hope was high and life was sweet; 
When romance shed its golden light, 
That circled, in a nimbus bright, 

O'er Time's un wrinkled brow. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



461 



The lips are mute that sang these words; 
The hands are still that struck these 
chords; 

The loving heart is cold. 
From out the circle, one by one, 
Some dear companion there has gone; 
While others stay, to find how true 
That life has chord and discord too, 

And all of us are old. 

'Tis not alone when music thrills, 

The power of thought profound that fills 

The soul! 'Tis not all art! 
The old familiar tones we hear, 
Die not upon the listening ear; 

They vibrate in the heart. 

And now you know the reason, dear, 
Why I have kept and treasured here 

This song of bygone years. 
You laugh at the old-fashioned strain; 
It brings my childhood back again, 

And fills my eyes with tears. 



A BACHELOR'S REVERIE. 

Dreaming, I sat in my easy chair, 

While the log on the embers burned; 
And I thought of the bliss of a bachelor's 

life, 
With its freedom from care, and worry, 
and strife, 
And the sorrows each day to be learned. 

With grim delight, I placed in the scale 
Of the balance my mind had formed, 
The tortures and trials that fall to the 
lot 
Of the man who jumps in the water 

when hot, 
And finds himself more than warmed. 

The great expense came into my mind 

In the shape of honeymoon bills, 
Of the house to be found or the flat to 

be sought, 
Of the millions of things that have to be 
bought, 
From sofas and bureaus to pills. 




One side of the scale I heaped up full, 

Adding many a thought beside, 
Of the gulf 'twixt marriage and bachelor- 
hood, 
As the subject I thought I quite under- 
stood, 
And the chasm appeared very wide. 

When lo! by a weird, strange freak of 
thought, 
Queer changes came over my dream. 
A vision of white, with the brown inter- 
laced, 
And a glitter of blue could distinctly be 
traced, 
With a shimmer of sparkle and gleam. 

Fondly I gazed as the vision cleared, 
And I watched the mist take form, 
When the brown, which resolved into 

wavy hair, 
And the snowy dress and the blue eyes 
fair 
Took completely my heart by storm. 

Then I kissed in thought those ripe red 
lips, 
And I smoothed the rich brown hair, 
And I placed this maid in the opposite 

scale, 
When, lo! as in the old philosopher's 
tale, 
The other flew high in the air. 



OLD-SCHOOL PUNISHMENT. 

Old Master Brown, brought his ferule 
down, 
And his face looked angry and red, 
" Go seat you there, now, Anthony Blair, 

Along with the girls," he said. 
Then Anthony Blair, with a mortified air, 

With his head down on his breast, 
Took his penitent seat, by the maiden 
sweet, 
That he loved of all the best. 
And Anthony Blair, seemed whimpering 
there, 
But the rogue only made believe; 
For he peeped at the girls with the beau- 
tiful curls, 
And ogled them over his sleeve. 





462 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




REGRET. 

Oh had I mused when I was young, 
The lessons of my father's tongue, 
The deep laborious thoughts he drew, 
From all he saw and others knew, 
I might have been, alas ! — ah me, 
Thrice wiser than I e'er shall be, 
For what doth say old Father Time. 
Alas! he only shows the truth, 
Of all that I was taught in youth. 



THE PRETTY WORKING-GIRL. 

The air is chill — the city's pave 

Is slippery and wet — 
The child of wealth and luxury 

Is wrapped in slumber yet — 
The sleet and snow are rushing by 

In many an angry whirl, 
While hurries to her daily toil 

The pretty working-girl. 

No word have I 'gainst gold to say, 

If it be fairly earned, 
And fairly used by rich men who 

Sweet charity have learned. 
The generous merchant may with pride 

His banner broad unfurl, 
But prouder is the record of 

The pretty working-girl. 

Her clothes, though not the finest, 

Are the best that she can wear — 
Her fingers boast no diamonds, 

But her face is very fair. 
Her eyes are bright, and when she smiles 

She shows her teeth of pearl; 
And love dwells in the bosom of 

The pretty working-girl. 

With wages scant, the ills of life 

She's fated to endure; 
And yet she manages to save 

A trifle for the poor. 
At any mean or sordid act 

With scorn her lip will curl, 
For noble is the nature of 

The pretty working-girl. 



Then treat her kindly, ye proud ones, 
. Who "neither toil nor spin;" 
She has to struggle very hard 

Her daily bread to win. 
And he — though dressed in finest cloth — 

Would be a very churl, 
Who would not, if appealed to, help 

The pretty working-girl. 

God bless the modest, gentle ones 

Who labor day by day; 
And God bless those with means to spare 

Who help them on their way. 
Ye who would, in the better land, 

Possess the priceless pearl, 
Treat not with scorn nor cold contempt 

The pretty working-girl. 



LAST WORDS OF A POLISH KING. 

People op Poland: 

It is now two hundred and eighty years 
that you have been governed by my 
family. The reign of my ancestors is 
past, and mine is soon to expire. Fatigued 
by the labors of war, the cares of the 
cabinet, and the weight of age ; oppressed 
with the burdens and vicissitudes of a 
reign of more than twenty-one years; I, 
your king and father, return into your 
bands what the world esteems above all 
things, a crown, and choose for my throne 
six feet of earth, where I shall sleep with 
my fathers. 

When you show my tomb to your 
children tell them that I was the fore- 
most in battle and the last in retreat; 
that I renounced regal grandeur for the 
good of my country, and restored my 
scepter to those who gave it me. 

Casimer The Great. 



SARCASM. 



" I just went out to see a friend for a 
moment," said Jones to his wife, the 
other evening as he returned to his seat 
in the theatre. " Indeed," she replied, 
" I supposed, from the odor of your breath, 
that you had been out to see your worst 



enemy 



Jones subsided, — he winced. 



7\ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




ORDER. 

Let order e'er your time preside, 
And method all your business guide; 
Early begin and end your toil, 
Nor let great tasks your hands embroil. 
One thing at once, be still begun, 
Continued, resolved, pursued, and done, 
Nor till to-morrow's ligbt delay, 
What might as well be done to-day. 



NOT FORGOTTEN. 

Not quite forgotten, oh, thou first and 
fairest 
Of all my day-dreams, thou who yet 
must be 
Trusted in longest and still loved the 
dearest. 
Forgotten? There is no such word 
for thee. 

Not quite forgotten, for thy dear reflec- 
tion 
Undimmed in memory ever must re- 
main; 
And there are times when all the old af- 
fection 
Which I have borne thee surges back 
again. 



MARRIAGE. 



Cries Sylvia to a reverend Dean, 
What reason can be given, 

Since marriage is a holy thing, 
That there is none in heaven. 

" There are no women," he replied. 

She quick returned the jest: — 
"Women there are, but I'm afraid 

They cannot find a priest." 



WORDS. TRUTH. 

So if I waste words now in truth 

You must blame Love. His early rage 

Had force to make me rhyme in youth, 
And make me talk too much in age. 
Ir-P 



ADONIS' DEATH. PROPHESY. 

Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy, 
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend; 
It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
Find sweet beginning but unsavoury 
end; 
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low; 
That all love's pleasure shall not match 
his woe. 

It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, 
It shall be blasted in a breathing- 
while, 

The bottom poison, and the top o'er- 
straw'd 
With sweets that shall the sharpest 
sight beguile. 

The strongest body shall it make most 
weak, 

Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool 
to speak. 

It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
Teaching decrepid age to tread the 
measures; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor 
with treasures; 
It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, 
Make the young old, the old become a 
child. 

It shall suspect where is no cause of 

fear; 
It shall not fear where it should most 

distrust; « 
It shall be merciful, and too severe, 
. And most deceiving when it seems 

most just; 
Perverse it shall be, when it seems most 

toward, 
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 

It shall be cause of war and dire events, 
And set dissension 'twixt the son and 
sire ; 
Subject and servile to all discontents, 

As dry combustious matter is to fire. 
Sith in his prime, death dothjny love de- 
destroy, 
They that love best their love shall not 
enjoy. 



J J« 



. 



464 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(P* 



A PLEA FOR "CASTLES IN THE 
AIR." 

Amid the myriad troubles that meet us 
day by day, 

Who would not from the conflict a mo- 
ment turn away, 

And in a far-off fairy-laud, where men no 
burdens bear, 

Forget awhile our tears and toil in 
"castles in the air?" 

When many a bright-hued prospect fades 

fast beyond our view, 
And hopes which n eared fruition prove 

shadowy and untrue, 
May we not in that dreamland, beyond 

all clouds and care, 
Behold our paradise restored in "castles 

in the air?" 

Oh, there are lonely chambers in every 

home and heart — 
And in life's song of sorrow each one 

must bear a part. 
But hark! what mystic melodies soon 

hush the voice of care, 
As parted hands are clasped once more in 

"castles in the air." 

Then never grow discouraged, though 
fortune favors not, 

And we pursue life's pilgrimage unnoticed 
or forgot; 

We have an hour of victory and lustrous 
laurels wear — 

For all are kings and conquerors in " cas- 
tles in the air." 



SO HAUGHTY. 

Now, you will find no woman, 

Though you hunt the wide world o'er, 
So haughty as a lady clerk 

In a country dry goods store. 



ARLETTE. 



1 loved her; oh, no words can tell 
The love that for Arlette I bore; 

We parted with the sad farewell 
Of those who part to meet no more. 



DEAR IS MY LITTLE NATIVE 
VALE. 

Dear is my little native vale, 

The ring-dove builds and murmurs 
there; 
Close by my cot she tells her tale 

To every passing villager; 
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 
And shells his nuts at liberty. 

In orange-groves and myrtle-bowers, 
That breathe a gale of fragrance round, 

I charm the fairy-footed hours 
With my loved lute's romantic sound; 

Or crowns of living laurel weave 

For those that win the race at eve. 

The shepherd's horn at break of day, 
The ballet danced in twilight glade, 

The cazonet and roundelay 

Sung in the silent greenwood shade: 

These simple joys, that never fail, 

Shall bind me to my native vale. 



FORTUNE MY FOE. 

"Aim not too high at things beyond thy 

reach," 
Nor give the rein to reckless thought or 

speech. 
Is it not better all thy life to bide 
Lord of thyself, than all the earth beside ? 

Thus if high Fortune far from thee take 

wing, 
Why shouldst thou envy counsellor^or 

king? 
Purple or homespun, — wherefore make 

ado 
What coat may cover, if the heart be 

true? 



Then, if at last thou gather wealth at 

will, 
Tbou most shalt honor Him who grants 

it still; 
Since he who best doth poverty endure, 
Should prove, when rich, best brother to 

the poor. 






o 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




DO SOMETHING. 

If the world seems cool to you, 

Kindle fires to warm it! 
Let their comfort hide from you 

Winters that deform it. 
Hearts as frozen as your own 

To that radiance gather; 
You will soon forget to moan, 

"Ah! the cheerless weather!" 

If the world 's a "vale of tears," 

Smile till rainbows span it; 
Breathe the love that life endears — 

Clear from clouds to fan it. 
Of your gladness lend a gleam 

Unto souls that shiver; 
Show them how dark sorrow's stream 

Blends with hope's bright river. 



SOMETIME. 



Sometime, when all life's lessons have 
been learned, 
And sun and stars forevermore have 
set, 
The things which our weak judgments 
here have spurned, 
The things o'er which we grieved with 
lashes wet 
Will flash before us out of life's dark 
night, 
As stars shine most in deeper tints of 
blue; 
And we shall see how all God's plans 
were right. 
And how what seemed reproof was love 
most true. 

And we shall see how, while we frown 

and sigh, 
God's plans go on as best for you and me; 
How, when we called, he heeded not our 
cry, 
Because his wisdom to the end could 
see. 
And e'en as prudent parents disallow 
Too much of sweet to craving baby- 
hood, 
So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now 
Life's sweetest things because it seem- 
eth good. 
30 



And if, sometimes, commingled with life's 
wine, 
We find the wormwood, and rebel and 
shrink, 
Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine 
Pours out the the potion for our lips to 
drink. 
And if some friend we love is lying low, 
Where human kisses cannot reach his 
face, 
Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, 
But bear your sorrow with obedient 



grace 



And you shall shortly know that length- 
ened breath 
Is not the sweetest gift God sends his 
friends, 
And that, sometimes, the sable pall of 
death 
Conceals the fairest boon his love can 
send. 
If we could push ajar the gates of life, 
And stand within, and all God's work- 
ings see, 
We could interpret all this doubt and 
strife, 
And for each mystery could find a key. 

But not to-day; then be content, poor 
hearts; 
God's plans like lilies pure and white 
unfold; 
We must not tear the close-shut leaves 
apart — 
Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
And if, through patient toil, we reach the 
land 
Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, 
may rest, 
When we shall know and clearly under- 
stand, 
I think that we shall say that "God 
knows best." 



GOOD-NIGHT. 

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill 
Which severs those it should unite; 

Let us remain together still, 
Then it will be good-night. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ALL'S FOR THE BEST. 

All 's for the best, if we only did know it; 
Sorrow and suffering, anguish and loss; 
Tenderly, kindly, God's hand doth be- 
stow it, 
Bridging with love the deep chasm 
across, 
Dark are the shadows foretelling the 
dawning, 
Bringing the chariot wheels of the day; 
It is always the night-time before it is 
morning — 
Always the winter before it is May. 
Joy walketh close in the footsteps of sor- 
row — 
We find not the thorn till the rose we 
have pressed; 
But let it be grief or joy on the morrow, 
God's way is the way that is always the 
best. 



These earthly afflictions but help to per- 
fect us; 
To make us the stronger, the braver 
to do! 
We are sure of one friend who will never 
neglect us — 
Sure of one friend who will ever be true. 
When everything fails on which we de- 
pended, 
Friends drop away, and good fortune 
takes wings. 
Joy with our sorrow forever is blended, 
As we list to the song that hope's sing- 
ing bird sings. 
She sings of the waters so placidly flow- 
ing, 
Of the streets all with gold and with 
sapphire impearled; 
We can smile and be brave as we see our 
hopes going, 
. For we know of a truth 't is the way of 
the world. 
And beyond the long road of human en- 
deavor, 
Shineth the light in the city of rest; 
There, freed from the trammels of earth- 
life forever, 
We shall know why God's way, notour 
own, was the best. 



THE ONLY GIFT HE OFFERED ME. 

The old elm's whispering leaves I hear, 

They tell a story sweet to me 
Of many happy hours I 've passed 

Around that favorite homestead tree. 
Not gone are all the voices dear, 

And there are faces still I know 
Which made my life all joyousness 

In the love-lighted long ago. 
'T was there that one first came to me 

And spoke the sweetest words e'er 
heard — 
Sweeter than lute's pure melody, 

Sweeter than rarest song of bird. 
No gift of house or land he brought, 

Yet I was happy as could be, 
A nature kind, an honeSt heart, 

Was all the gift he offered me. 

And he was brave and not ashamed 

To labor with a willing hand, 
And earn a dwelling of his own 

Surrounded by his own fair land. 
And now when I with him return 

To the old farm-house where my eyes 
First saw a mother's smile, and caught 

The glorious sunlight of the skies, 
I'm proud of him — my farmer boy — 

My husband true as true can be, 
Who brought to me an honest heart — 

The only gift he offered me. 

And I am prouder, happier still 

As on his head a hand I see, 
And blessings from a mother's lips 

Are sweetly breathed for him and me. 
I 've heard of mansions grand and high, 

The city's wealth, its air of pride, 
Its ever restless teeming life, 

Its scenes which to us are denied; 
But envy is not in my breast, 

I 'm happy as a wife can be 
With him who brought an honest heart — 

The only gift he offered me. 



CHARITY. 



Give like a Christian, speak in deeds; 
A noble life 's the best of creeds. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




467 



WHAT I WOULD CHOOSE. 

Would beauteous heaven once me indulge, 

I'd choose, 
(For who would so much satisfaction lose) 
As witty nymphs in conversation give, 
Near some obligiug, modest fair, to live: 
For there's a sweetness in a female mind 
That in a man's we cannot hope to find: 
That, by a secret but powerful art, 
Winds up the spring of life, and does 

impart 
Fresh vital heat to the transported heart. 



I 'd have her reason, all her passions sway, 
Easy in company, in private gay; 
Coy to a fop, to the deserving free, 
Still constant to herself and just to me. 
A soul she should have for great actions 

fit, 
Prudence and judgment to direct her wit, 
Courage to look bold danger in the face, 
No fear but only to be proud or base; 
Quick to advise, by an emergence pressed, 
To give good counsel, or to take the best. 

I 'd have the expression of her thoughts 

be such 
She might not seemed reserved, nor talk 

too much; 
That shows a want of judgment and of 

sense, 
More than enough is but impertinence, 
Her conduct regular, her mirth refined, 
Civil to strangers, to her neighbors kind, 
Adverse to vanity, revenge, and pride, 
In all the methods of deceit untried, 
So faithful to her friend, and good to all, 
No censure might upon her actions fall, 
Then would even envy be compelled to 

say, 
She goes the least of woman-kind astray. 

To this fair creature I 'd sometimes re- 
tire, 
Her conversation would new joys inspire, 
Give life an edge so keen, no surly care 
Would venture to assault my soul, or 
dare 
', Near my retreat to hide one secret snare. 



If heaven a date of many years would 
give, 

Thus I'd in pleasure, ease and plenty 
live, 

And as I near approach'd the verge of 
death, 

Some kind relation (when I lose my 
breath ) 

Should take upon him all my worldly 
care, 

Whilst I now for a little better state pre- 
pare; 

Then I 'd not be with any trouble veved, 

Nor have the evening of my days per- 
plexed, 

But by a silent and a blissful death 

Without a sigh resign my painful breath. 

And when committed to the dust I 'd have 
Few tears, but friendly, dropped upon 

my grave, 
Then would my exit so propitious be, 
All men would wish to live and die like 

me. 



THE ROSE. 



Go, lovely Rose! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows, 
When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to me. 

Tell her that's young, 
And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That had she sprung 
In deserts where no men abide, 
She must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired; 

Bid her come forth, 
Suffer herself to be desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die, that she 
The common fate of all things rare, 

May read in thee 
How small a part of time they share, 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 




468 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




EASY ENOUGH. 

It is easy enough for lovers of sin to 
Believe in no heaven they cannot get 

into; 
And natural, too, for the wicked to doubt 

of 
A hell which they fear they cannot keep 

out of. 



SONNET. 



Give me a cottage on some Cambrian 
wild, 
Where far from cities, I may spend 
my days, 
And by the beauties of the scene be- 
guiled, 
May pity man's pursuits, and shun his 
ways. 
While on the rock I mark the browsing 
goat, 
List to the mountain-torrent's distant 
noise, 
Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note. 
I shall not want the world's delusive 
joys: 
But with my little scrip, my book, my 
lyre, 
Shall think my lot complete, nor covet 
more; 
And when, with time, shall wane the 
vital fire, 
I'll raise my pillow on the desert 
shore, 
And lay me down to rest where the wild 

wave 
Shall make sweet music o'er my lonely 
grave. 



BEAUTIFUL BELLE. 



Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of 

pride, 
Might hide her faults, if Belle had faults 

to hide; 
If to her share some female errors fall, 
Look on her face and you '11 forget them 

all. 




SHORT LECTURES. 

We are all placed here to do something. 
It is for us, and not for others, to find 
out what that something is, and then 
withall the energy of which we are capa- 
ble, honestly and conscientiously, to go 
about our business. 

Let excellency of character, purity of 
mind, together with generous words and 
noble deeds, mark conspicuously all the 
acts and motives of our lives, then we 
will truly enjoy the true pleasures of 
time, and make the society in which we 
move happier and better in consequence 
of our having lived in the world. 

Every man stamps his value on him- 
self. The price we challenge for our- 
selves is given us. Man is made great or 
little by surroundings and his own will. 
One who can work right on, quietly 
waiting for recognition, if it come; if 
not, yet right on, is the true nobleman, 
and the one who is certain to obtain the 
greatest rewards and the most enduring 
happiness. 

As we travel over life's rough journey, 
along the great highway, may, with lib- 
eral hand, scatter seeds of kindness and 
benevolence as we go, so that when the 
great reaping time comes, our harvests 
may be fruitful, abundant, and blessed. 

Remember there is no spot in the uni- 
verse to which we can retreat from our 
influence upon our fellow men. Age and 
youth, both have their dreams. Youth 
looks at the possible, age at the probable. 
We may all profit much by learning and 
practicing the luxury of doing all the 
good we can. 

May there be just clouds enough over 
our lives, to cause a glorious and brilliant 
sunset. 



MEMORY. 



Even so tho' memory should now die 
away, 

'T will be caught up again in some hap- 
pier day. < 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




469 



PARING APPLES. 

Out underneath the apple tree 

A bonny maiden sat, 
And by her side, in drowsy state, 

Reposed the old gray cat. 
The sky above, the fields below, 

The little maiden sitting there, 
The golden curls and soft blue eyes 

All formed a picture sweet and fair. 

And in her lap a dish she held 

Of fruit — a tempting sight, 
And in a cheery voice she sang, 

"These must be pared ere night; 
But mother's gone and I'm alone, 

And now I '11 try my luck and see 
If brown-eyed Robin — whom I love — 

Has really given his heart to me. 

"For I 've often heard if I should pare 

An apple whole and sound, 
Without a break, in one long strip, 

And cast it on the ground, 
That, falling, it would twine and take 

The first initial of his name, 
Who, some fine day — if it is true — 

Will surely come my hand to claim.'' 



FRIGHTEN ME SOME MORE. 

Lovely, charming little Dolly — 

A bashful little maid — 
Seeming one day very jolly, 

I thought I might persuade 
To forsake her father's dwelling, 

And journey through this life — 
Sad or gloomy thoughts dispelling — 

My pretty, loving wife. 

So I spoke in accents tender, 

And drew her to my side, 
For I thought she would surrender 

When asked to be my bride. 
Then she started from me quickly, 

Said neither nay or aye, 
But, as blushes gathered thickly, 

" I 'm frightened; go away! " 




Then I thought that I 'd offended — 

I nothing more could say, 
For I thought my suit was ended, 

So I turned to go away. 
Oh, my heart with grief was laden, 

But ere I 'd passed the door 
Cried the charming little maiden, 

" Please frighten me some more!" 



COULDN'T STAND EVERYTHING. 

All ills known to physic, from toothache 
to phthisic, 
He suffered with torture intense; 
A cancerous hummock invaded his stom- 
ach, 
His rheumatic pains were intense; 
He was sick with miasma, and choked 
with the asthma, 
An abscess had eaten his lung; 
And there was a rumor a gigantic tumor 
Had grown at the roots of his tongue; 
The keen meningitis, the choking bron- 
chitis, 
Both tortured him nearly insane, 
And a cross-looking bunion, as large as 
an onion, 
Made him howl for whole hours with 
pain. 
He had "healers," physicians and loud 
quack magicians, 
And nostrums and pills by the ton, 
And medicine mixers, with all their elix- 
irs, 
Be-doctored the fellow like fun. 
They would drug him and swill him, yet 
nothing could kill him, 
Their efforts combined he defied; 
Till a famous soprano, with a rattling 
piano, 
Moved into his bouse — then he died. 



PERFECTION. 

Christian perfection consists in a dis- 
interested love of God; excluding the 
hope of happiness, and the fear of punish- 
ment or misery, and this perfection is 
attainable by man. 




470 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




YOU WILL REMEMBER. 

Some time I think you will be glad to 

know 

That I have kept you ever in my heart, 

And that my love has only deeper grown 

In all the time that we have loved 

apart. 

Some day, when you have slipped away 
from care, 
And idly fell to dreaming of the past, 
And sadly think of all your life has 
missed, 
You will remember my true love at 
last. 

Or it may come to pass, some dreary night, 
After a day that has been hard to bear, 
When you are weary, heart sick and for- 
lorn, 
And there is none to comfort or to care, 

Then you will close your tired eyes to 
dream 
Of tender kisses soft and light — 
Of restful touches smoothing back your 
hair, 
And sweet words spoken for your 
heart's delight. 

Oh! then you will remember and be glad 
That I have kept you ever in my heart, 

And that your heart's true home will 
still be there, 
Although we wander silent and apart. 



IN FETTERS OF GOLD. 

Ah, well! the grand pageant is over, 

No longer a girl, but a wife, 
And my gray-headed elderly lover, 

Transformed to my master — for life. 
Shall I always be weary, I wonder, 

Of seeing bim close at my side? 
Is life altogether a blunder? 

Are these the right thoughts for a 
bride ? 

if 



Why, surely, my lot is the fairest — 

This elegant mansion is mine — 
My dresses are lately from Paris — 

My jewels, how brightly they shine! 
I've high-mettled steeds in my stable, 

I 've servants, well-trained, at my hire, 
The daintiest fare at my table — 

What else can there be to desire ? 

'Tis said I' ve the fairest of faces, 

My diamonds are priceless and old. 
I rustle in satins and laces; 

My purse it is heavy with gold. 
And yet — ah, and yet I am weary 

And sick unto death of my life! 
Will it always be empty and dreary, 

And duty and love be at strife? 

I remember — ah, daily remember 

A lover both noble and young, 
Beside me that happy September, 

Which passed like a song that is sung. 
I recall how he wept when we parted, 

And my heart held sorrow untold, 
Yet I sent him away broken-hearted, 

To put on these fetters of gold. 

And now they must bind me forever, 

Must rankle and hurt till I die, 
And I must look happy, and never 

Dare smother a smile with a sigh. 
But I 'd give every acre and jewel 

For one little hour to be free 
From these golden fetters so cruel, 

And call my lost love back to me. 

But ah! 'Tis in vain that I cherish 

The memories I once held so dear; 
Far better each token should perish, 

Than linger to torture me here. 
Go burn, then, dear ring, and the letters 

I' ve guarded as treasures untold, 
And I will smile on, in my fetters, 

Because I have made them of gold. 



JEALOUSY. 



When jealous men on their own crimes 

reflect, 
They learn from hence the ladies to sus- 

pect. ^ 

% 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




OBSERVATORY REMARKS. 

I would that a boy should travel rather 
between eight and sixteen than between 
sixteen and twenty. The less of logic the 
better, and that when he becomes of age 
he'd better not marry, according to the 
usual custom, but wait some years, that 
his children may not tread too closely on 
his heels. Locke. 



"GIVE THANKS FOR WHAT?" 

" Let earth give thanks," the deacon said, 
And then the proclamation read. 

"Give thanks fer what, an 1 what about?" 
Asked Simon Soggs when church was 

out; — 
" Give th anks fer what ? I don't see why ; 
The rust got in an' spiled my rye, 
And hay wa'n't half a crop, and corn 
All wilted down and looked forlorn. 
The bugs just gobbled ray pertaters, 
The what you call 'em — lineaters; 
And gracious! when you come to wheat, 
There 's more than all the world can eat; 
Onless a war should interfere, 
Crops won't bring half a price this year; 
I'll hev to give 'em away, I reckon!" 

"Good for the poor!" exclaimed the dea- 
con. 

"Give thanks fer what?" asked Simon 

Soggs; 
"Fer th' freshet carryin 1 off my logs? 
Fer Dobbin goin' blind? Fer five 
Uv my best cows, that was alive 
Afore the smashin' railroad come 
And made it awful troublesome? 
Fer that haystack the lightnin' struck 
And burnt to ashes? — thunderin' luck! — 
Fer ten dead sheep?" sighed Simon 

Soggs. 

The deacon said, "You 've got yer hogs!" 

" Give thanks? And Jaue and baby sick? 
I e'enmost wonder if Ole Nick 
Ain't running things!" 



The deacon said, 
"Simon, your people might be dead!" 

"Give thanks!" said Simon Soggs again. 

"Jest look at what a fix we 're in! 

The country 's rushin' to the dogs 

At race-horse speed!" said Simon Soggs. 

"Rotten all through, in every state; 

Why, ef we don't repudiate, 

We '11 have to build, for big and small, 

A poor-house that'll hold us all! 

Down South the crooked whisky-still 

Is running like the Devil's mill. 

The nigger skulks ir> night's disguise, 

And hooks a chicken as he flies. 

Up North there's murder everywhere, 

And awful doings, I declare. 

Give thanks? How mad it makes me feel 

To think how office-holders steal! 

The taxes paid by you and me 

Is four times bigger 'n they should be. 

The Fed'ral Gover'ment 's all askew; 

The ballot 's sech a mockery, too ! 

Some votes too little, some too much, 

Some not at all — it beats the Dutch! 

And now no man knows what to do, 

Or how is how or who is who. 

Deacon, corruption's sure to kill! 

This ' glorious Union ' never will, 

I '11 bet a Continental cent, 

Elect another President! 

Give thanks fer what, I 'd like to know? " 

The deacon answered, sad and low, 
" Simon, it fills me with surprise 
Ye don't see where yer duty lies; 
Kneel right straight down in all the muss, 
And thank God that it ain't no wuss!" 



POST ELECTION PARAGRAPHS. 

The mugwump roosts in the hollow log, 

The sagwag sits in thetree; 
Whenever I hear the hogwig sing 

My heart is sad in me. 

Whenever the snagpop toots his toot 
To the wail of the mipwag hen, 

And the migfunk chirps in the stilly 
night, 
You bet I 'm lonely then. 





& 



472 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



(P 



FALSE AND TRUE. 

We grasp a hand, we think it true and 
strong, 
We look in eyes where love-light seems 
to play; 
The hand we hold clings but to guide us 
wrong, 
The light within the eyes gleams to 
betray. 

We feel a heart beat near our own, close 
pressed, 
We think it echoes back love's secret 
lore, 
But find 'tis but a tool — within the 
breast — 
Of curious mechanism, nothing more. 

We listen to soft tones from lips which 
seem 
Too regal e'en a foe's name to belie; 
We drink their freshness, and we fondly 
dream 
That nought can mar our soul's sweet 
harmony. 

E'en as we dream — forth from the heart's 
fair gate 
Issue barbed words which pierce us 
through and through, 
Whilst we, bewildered, find, even though 
so late, 
This seal of royalty is earthly too. 

We place our heart's best treasure, trust- 
ing^ 
In the safe keeping of a thing of clay; 
The trust is broken. Though we do not 
die, 
Our faith in human love shows slow 
decay. 

We tread the earth, to find, where'er we 
roam, 
Lips fair but subtle, heart-beats quick 
but cold; 
Lightnings in eyes which only seem love's 
home, 
And treachery even in the hand we 
hold. 



But is this all of friendship, love? Ah, 
no! 
These well-wrought counterfeits from 
Satan's hand 
To me conclusive evidence do show 
That the pure coin is still in good de- 
mand. 

And if we seal our hearts, rolling the 
stone 
Of cold distrust firmly against the 
door, 
The whitest angel near love's pearly 
throne 
Can roll that stone away, ah! never- 
more. 

So, after all, 't is better that we err 
In loving overmuch, though oft de- 
ceived, 
Than make our hearts a sealed sepulchre, 
From which the angel turns away ag- 
grieved. 



CONSTANCY. 

He said, 
And leaned as he spoke on the pasture 
bars, 
That he vowed by the heavens blue — 
By the silvery moon and the shining 
stars — 
To ever prove leal and true. 

" Men change, 'tis true," he said, "but oh! 

Believe me, my own dear love, 
Affection like mine, as time will show, 

Has a strength that no power can 
move." 

She said: 
" No fear or doubts, beloved, have I, 

Nor deep in this heart of mine 
Is a love that will never dim and die, 

But will last for aye — like thine!" 

He gave her a ring and a fond caress, 
While her tears like a torrent fell; 

As with falt'ring words and in sore dis- 
tress, 
He bade her a long farewell. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 






473 



But the man in the moon, who had often 
viewed 
Such tender scenes, I ween, 
Winked knowingly then, as the lovers 
stood 
Beneath, in the silver sheen. 

$fc t£ ^ % 3fc ^F 

Two summers with blossoms and buds 
are gone, 
Two winters with frosts and snow; 
And again the man in the moon looked 
down 
On the whirling world below. 

And what did he see? Why the lover 
had won 
A widow with wealth galore; 
While the maiden had wedded, that very 

morn, 
The clerk of a dry goods store. 



A BOY'S SOLILOQUY. 

I wonder, if I ran away to sea or off to 
Texas, 
Like the fellows that I Ve read about 
in stories brave and bold, 
If Sister Sue would only say, " Well, he's 
not here to vex us," 
Or if my folks would care the least, 
though I were tired and cold. 

My father — well I cannot say I 'm inti- 
mate with him. 
He 's at the office every day; and no one 
dares to stir 

When he comes home, for, if they do, 
they hear a gruff and grim 

Commanding voice: "Be silent there! 
My eye is on you, sir!" 

I like to listen to Alphonse, my splendid, 
grand, big brother, 
Who 's been 'way off to China, and In- 
dia, and Japan; 
But he always sends me kiting, and calls 
me such a bother. 
I won't treat the boys so horridly if 
ever I'ma man. 



My mother used to love me. Yes, she 
loved me dearly, too, 
When I was just a little chap, with 
curling, golden hair; 
But now I'm at the awkward age — I 
heard her telling Sue — 
So clumsy and so rough, and she finds 
me such a care. 

She hardly ever kisses me, or lays her 
hand caressing 
Upon my tumbled, tangled head. Oh! 
how I wish she would. 
If she 'd sometimes come and call me her 
treasure and her blessing, 
It would be easier, I think, to be gentle, 
kind and good. 

Well, I shall not run away to Texas or to 
sea, 
And I'll burn the story-papers or pile 
them on the shelf; 
For, though nobody may care so very 
much for me, 
There 's something inside tells me to 
be noble for myself. 



■ LONG, LONG AGO. 

Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head. 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
0, how I wept when I knew she was dead, 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
She was an angel, my love and my guide, 
Vainly to save me from ruin she tried, 
Poor broken-hearted, it 's well that she 
died, 

Long, long, ago, long ago. 

Let me look back on the days of my 
youth, 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
I was no stranger to virtue and truth, 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
0, for the chains that were pure as the 

day, 
0, for the joys that were purer than they, 
0, for the hours that I squandered away, 

Long, long ago. long ago. 



*X 




474 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE RIBBAND. 

That which her slender waist confined, 
Shall now my joyful temples bind; 
No monarch but would give his throne 
His arms might do what mine have done. 

It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely dear; 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass, and yet there 
Dwelt all that 's lovely all that 's fair, 
Give me but what this ribband bound, 
Take all the rest the world goes round. 



TO A FRIEND. 

Farewell to thee, friend, there's a light 

in thine eye, 
That speaks of a purpose both noble and 

high, 
Out over the waters thy spirit shall flee, 
But go where thou wilt, still my thought 

is with thee. 
Thy bark on the billow, thy tread on the 

flower; 
The desert thy pillow, thy rest in the 

bower; 
Wherever thy roaming, wherever thy 

rest, 
May joy, like a' balsam, be light on thy 

breast. 

Farewell! and whenever thy soul shall 

return, 
In a thought or a dream may it brilliantly 

burn; 
O'er the hours now shadowed, the trust 

unimpaired, 
That we have so fondly and faithfully 

shared. 
My fortune to-morrow, though dark it 

may be, 
Some joy will yet borrow if loved still by 

thee. 
With fervor I speak the last heart-break- 
ing spell, 
And may God be with thee, my friend, 

fare thee well. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Since in each scheme of life I 've failed, 
And disappointment seems entailed; 
Since all on earth I valued most, 
My guide, my stay, my friend, is lost: 
0, solitude, now give me rest, 
And hush the tempest in my breast, 
Gently deign to guide my feet, 
To your hermit-trodden seat; 
Where I may live, at last my own, 
Where I at last may die unknown. 



AT THE M&TINEE. 

Maiden fresh from Vassar was she, 
Both learned and charmingly fair, 

Who, by my side at the matinee, 
Leaned back in the orchestra chair. 

A critical mind she has, thought I, 
As together we watched the play; 

So careful I '11 be to catch each word 
She shall at its ending say. 

Her views will be wise and just, I said, 
Both the good and the bad she '11 see; 

And she '11 speak the truth, as lawyers do, 
When not warped by retaining fee. 

And so, when the curtain downward 
rolled 
From its nest far up overhead, 

I turned to her with a quest'ning look, 

And these were the words she said: 

" Now, do n't you think " — and she smiled 
as up 
She rose in the orchestra stall, 

II That pa might buy me a dress like that 

To wear at the Patriarch's ball? " 



WE MET. 



I met her at our trysting place, 
At edge of field, beside the bars, 

And gazing in her pure, sweet face, 
I kissed her, 'neath the cold pale stars. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




"MOTHER'S FOOL." 

" 'T is plain to me," said the farmer's 

wife, 
" These boys will make their mark in life; 
They never were made to handle a hoe, 
And at once to college they ought to go. 
Yes, John and Henry, 'tis clear to me, 
Great men in this world are sure to be: 
But Tom, he 's little above a fool — 
So John and Henry must go to school." 



" Now, really, wife," quoth farmer 

Brown, 
As he sets his mug of cider down, 
" Tom does more work in a day for me 
Then both of his brothers do in three; 
Book learnin' will never plant beans or 

corn, 
Nor hoe potatoes, sure as you 're born — 
Nor mend a rood of broken fence; 
For my part, give me common sense." 

But his wife the roost was bound to rule, 
And so " the boys " were sent to school; 
While Tom, of course, was left behind, 
For his mother said he had no mind. 



Five years at school the students spent, 
Then each one into business went, 
John learned to play the flute and fiddle, 
And parted his hair (of course) in the 

middle; 
Though his brother looked rather higher 

than he 
And hung out his shingle — " H. Brown, 

M. D." 
Meanwhile, at home, their brother Tom 
Had taken a notion into his head, 
Though he said not a word, but trimmed 

his trees, 
And hoed his corn and sowed his peas, 
But somehow, either by " hook or crook," 
He managed to read full many a book. 
Well, the war broke out, and "Captain 

Tom" 
To battle a hundred soldiers led, 
And when the enemy's flag went down, 
Came marching home as " General 

Brown." 



But he went to work on the farm again, 
Planted his corn and sowed his grain, 
Repaired the house and broken fence, 
And people said he had "common sense." 
Now, common sense was rather rare, 
And the State House needed a portion 

there, 
So our " family dunce " moved into town, 
And people called him " Governor Brown." 
And his brothers that went to the city 

school, 
Came home to live with " mother's fool." 



GIRLS, DO N'T MARRY IN HASTE. 

Though you may love fondly 

With heart and with soul, 
Keep well the affections 

Within your control; 
And, while you are anxious 

No minutes to waste, 
This maxim remember: 

" Do n't marry in haste! " 

In coming and going 

Abroad in the land, 
One meets with love's ruins, — 

Like beacons they stand! 
They say to the thoughtless 

In many a clime: 
"Don't be in a hurry; 

Give love ample time." 

" My lover may change, then," 

The maidens reply, 
" Well, better beforehand 

Than after," we cry, 
True love's like a diamond, 

Mere fancy is paste, 
Then, girls, this remember: 

"Don't marry in haste." 

If you tarry awhile 

In your prudence and pride 
Ere you enter life's garden 

As bridegroom and bride, 
You '11 learn of each other, 

And if both prove true, 
You '11 love him forever, 

As he will love you. 




476 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






A DEAR LITTLE BUTTERCUP. 

Along a shady road the maid 

And youth were slowly walking, 

And of the lovely summer sky 

And singing birds were talking; 

When, stooping by the way, he plucked 

(The ground with them was yellow) 

One of the many flow'rs, and said: 

When I, a little fellow, 

With other little fellows, went 

Through fields and lanes a-straying, 

With golden buttercups a trick 

We were forever playing. 

And now, if you'll hold up your chin, 

Some magic words I' 11 utter, 

And by the gold reflected there 

I '11 tell if you love butter." 

She raised her pretty dimpled chin — 

Her red lips smiling o'er it, — 

And he stood, buttercup in hand, 

One moment mute before it. 

Then came a flush upon his cheek, 

And he began to stutter: 

" Do you — do you — do you love — me ? v 

He said, instead of — "butter." 

When down went flower, neither one 

Its shiny petals missing, 

For he the red, red, smiling lips 

And dimpled chin was kissing. 



YOU KISSED ME. 

You kissed me. My head sank low on 
your breast 

With a feeling of shelter and infinite 
rest, 

And the holy emotions my tongue dare 
not speak 

Flashed up in a flame from my heart to 
my cheek. 

Your arms clasped me round. Oh, your 
arms were so bold! 

Heart beat against heart in their passion- 
ate fold. 

Your lips clung to mine, till I prayed in 
my bliss 

They might never unclasp from the rap- 
turous kiss. 

kP. 



You kissed me. My strength and my 
will 

In delirious joy for a moment stood still. 

Life had for me then no temptations, no 
charms, 

No vision of happiness outside of your 
arms; 

And were I this instant an angel, pos- 
sessed 

Of the peace and the joy that are given 
the blest, 

I would fling my white robes unrepin- 
ingly down, 

I would tear from my forehead its beau- 
tiful crown 

To nestle once more in that haven of 
rest — 

Your lips upon mine, my head on your 
breast. 

You kissed me. My soul in a bliss so 

divine 
Reeled and swooned like a drunken man, 

foolish with wine: 
And I thought 'twere delicious to die 

then, if death 
Would but come while my lips were yet 

moist with your breath — 
If my pulses might cease and my heart 

might grow cold 
While your arms wrapt me around in 

their passionate fold; 
And these are the questions I ask day 

and night: 
Must my lips taste no more such ex- 
quisite delight? 
Would you care if your breast were my 

shelter as then — 
And if you were here would you kiss me 

again ? 



THE WISH. 



I 've often wished to have a friend, 
With whom my choicest hours to spend, 
To whom I safely might impart, 
Each wish and weakness of my heart, 
Who might in every sorrow cheer, 
And mingle with my grief a tear, 
To whom alone I 'd wish to be, 
And whom alone would live for me, 
And to secure my bliss for life, 
I 'd wish that friend to be a wife. 



<hR 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



477 







THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN. 

The shades of eve had crossed the glen 
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, 

When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men, 
We stopped before a cottage door. 

"God save all here," my comrade cries, 
And rattles on the raised latch-pin; 

"God save you kindly, 11 quick replies 
A clear, sweet voice, and asks us in. 

We enter; from the wheel she starts, 
A rosy girl with soft black eyes; 

Her fluttering court'sy takes our hearts, 
Her blushing grace and pleased sur- 
prise. 

Poor Mary, she was quite alone, 
For, all the way to Glenmalure, 

Her mother had that morning gone, 
And left the house in charge with her. 

But neither household cares, nor yet 
The shame that startled virgins feel, 

Could make the generous girl forget 
Her wonted hospitable zeal. 

She brought us in a beechen bowl 

Sweet milk that smacked of mountain 
thyme, 

Oat cake, and such a yellow roll 
Of butter, — it gilds all my rhyme! 

And, while we ate the grateful food. 

(With weary limbs on bench reclined), 
Considerate and discreet, she stood 

Apart, and listened to the wind. 

Kind wishes both our souls engaged, 
From breast to breast spontaneous ran 

The mutual thought, — we stood and 
pledged 
The modest rose above Loch Dan. 

" The milk we drink is not more pure, 
Sweet Mary, — bless those budding 
charms — 

Than your own generous heart, T 'm sure, 
Nor whiter than the breast it warms!" 

tr-P 




She turned and gazed, unused to hear 
Such language in that homely glen; 

But, Mary, you have naught to fear, 
Though smiled on by two stranger- 
men. 



Not for a crown would I alarm 
Your virgin pride by word or sign, 

Nor need a painful blush disarm 

My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. 



Her simple heart could not but feel 
The words we spoke were free from 
guile; 
She stooped, she blushed, she fixed her 
wheel, — 
'T is all in vain, — she can't but smile! 



Just like sweet April's dawn appears 
Her modest face, — I see it yet, — 

And, though I lived a hundred years, 
Methinks I never could forget 



The pleasure that, despite her heart, 
Fills all her downcast eyes with light, 

The lips reluctantly apart, 

The white teeth struggling into sight, 



The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, — 
The rosy cheek that won't be still; — 

0, who cquld blame what flatterers speak, 
Did smiles like this reward their skill? 



For such another smile, I vow, 

Though loudly beats the midnight rain, 
I 'd take the mountain-side e'en now, 

And walk to Luggelaw again! 



WE MET. 



I met her at our trysting place, 

At edge of field, where daisy grows, 

And gazing in her pure, sweet face, 
I kissed her 'neath her cold, pale nos 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 

0, when I was a tiny boy 

My days and nights were full of joy, 

My mates were blithe and kind ! — 
No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
And dash the tear-drop from my eye, 

To cast a look behind! 

A hoop was an eternal round 

Of pleasure. In those days I found 

A top a joyous thing; — 
But now those past delights I drop; 
My head, alas! is all my top, 

And careful thoughts the string! 

My marbles — once my bag was stored — 
Now I must play with Elgin's lord, 

With Theseus for a taw! 
My playful horse has slipt his string! 
Forgotten all his capering, 

And harnessed to the law! 

My kite — how fast and far it flew! 
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew 

My pleasure from the sky ! 
'T was papered o'er with studious themes, 
The tasks I wrote;, my present dreams 

Will never soar so high ! 

****** 



I COULD NOT HELP IT, NO NOT I. 

A plague upon the men, I say, 

They '11 never let poor girls alone, 
Ever teasing, night and day, 

'Till they have won us for their own, 
And yet the women love the men, 

'T is surely folly to deny, 
For nine will answer out of ten, 

I could not help it, no not I. 

I told young William t 'other day, 

I never would become a bride, 
But sure, he took another day 

To tell me truly that I lied. 
First with a kiss he stopped my breath, 

And softly said sweet creature, why? 
And though he squeezed me most to 
death, 

I could not help it, no not I. 




What do you think at last I said, 

I never shall forget, I swear, 
I '11 tell you plain I '11 never wed, 

So tease me now sir, if you dare. 
But 0! he kissed me so sweet, 

And looked so charming in my eye, 
I vowed in church the youth to meet, 

I could not help it, no not I. 



DO NOT REGRET. 

If I should go, beloved, and leave you 

here, 
And but my memory remain with you, 
I would not have your eyes know falling 

tear, 
With one degree of aught, or false or 

true, 
Of what you were to me when I was near, 
For hasty word, or lack of tender thought, 
But know they are all vanished and are 

naught. 

And rather think, beloved, of what to me 
You were before I stepped beyond 

your sight, 
Of the full restful joy I got from thee 
That swept my life from any shade of 

night, 
And made me feel that it could hardly be 
That ev'n we had lived our lives apart, 
And did not think and feel as heart to 

heart. 

Think only of the sunshine and the sweet, 
Trace not a line to mar our happy 

dream, 
And sigh not that the time had flying 

feet, 
That hid with darkened tracks our golden 

gleam. 
But rather think how much of life I had, 
And for my sake be grateful and be glad. 

It is no question whether life shall end, 
The question only is of when and how, 

And sweetest life that holds the dearest 
friend 
Shrinks not the most to hear the sum- 
mons, "now," 

For will not joy with joy more smoothly 
blend? 

And I who know how sweet life is to me 

May pass serenely to that one to be. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




So grieve not at the shortness of my way, 
But rather think that tho' my sun 
stood high, 

I yet had more of sweetness in my day 
Than many who see twice my years go 

by. 

And let my memory in your bosom stay, 
To lighten, rather than to bring regret. 
So sweet, forever, you would not forget. 

We 've known the joy of perfect love and 
trust, 
We 've walked together with a joyful 
tread, 
And when we part, as some time part we 
must, 
I'll be content to know when I am 
dead 
That though this form has moulded back 

to dust, 
Oar happy life together will remain 
To soften yours until we meet again. 

And so whatever friends you then may 

find, 
I only ask that they may prove most 

true, 
And find you nobler in your heart and 

mind 
Because I once was dearest friend to 

you. 
While yet my memory remains behind, 
Free from regret, free from a sigh or 

thorn, 
Blessing your days until the perfect morn. 






KISSING 'S NO SIN. 

Some say that kissing 's a sin; 

But I think it 's nane ava, 
For kissing has wonn'd in this warld 

Since ever that there was twa. 

0, if it wasna lawf u', 

Lawyers wadna allow it; 
If it wasna holy, 

Ministers wadna. do it. 

If it wasna modest, 

Maidens wadna tak' it; 
If it wasna plenty, 

Puir folk wadna get it. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

Dear Polly, these are joyful days! 

Your feet can choose their own sweet 

ways; 
You have no care of anything, 
Free as the swallow on the wing, 

You hunt the hay-field over 

To find a four-leaved clover. 

But this I tell you, Polly, dear, 
One thing in life you need not fear: 
Bad luck, I'm certain, never haunts 
A child who works for what she wants, 

And hunts a hay-field over 

To find a four-leaved clover. 

The little leaf is not so wise 
As it may seem in foolish eyes; 
But then, dear Polly, do n't you see, 
Since you were willing carefully 
To hunt the hay-field over, 
You found your four-leaved clover? 

Your patience may have long to wait, 
Whether in little things or great. 
But all good luck, you soon will learn, 
Must come to those who nobly earn. 
Who hunts the hay-field over 
Will find the four-leaved clover. 



A SPIRIT DEPARTED. 

A spirit that from earth had just de- 
parted, 
Lingered a moment on its upward way, 
And, looking back, saw, as though 
broken-hearted, 
Its friends and kindred weeping o'er its 
clay. 
" It seems they loved me dearly. Had I 
known it 
My life had been much happier," it 
said. 
" Why only at parting have they shown 
it — 
Their fondest kisses keeping for the 
dead? " 



Jh 



■4^ 






480 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






■ 



YOUNG ELLEN LORAINE. 



When I parted from Erin, heart-broken 
to leave thee, 
I dreamed not of falsehood, young 
Ellen Loraine, 
Ij thought though but woman, thou 
wouldst not deceive me, 
Then why wert thou faithless, young 
Ellen Loraine. 

I loved thee in sorrow, I sought thee in 
danger, 
And dear was the danger, and sweet 
was the pain, 
But now is thy look as the look of the 
stranger, 
Then why art thou faithless, young 
Ellen Loraine. 

0, thou wert the vision that lightened 
my pillow, 
The star of my brightness, young 
Ellen Loraine', 
As the bloom to the rose, as the sun to 
the billow, 
Thou cam'st to my slumber, young 
Ellen Loraine. 

Then think of me yet, when the false 
words deceive thee, 
And friends of gay fortune look cold 
on thy wane, 
When the sheen of thy cheek, like the 
summer night leaves thee, 
Thou 'It think how I loved thee, young 
Ellen Loraiue. 

0, speak not to me, in those eyes I dis- 
cover, 
The wrongs thou hast done me, young 
Ellen Loraine, 
Go, rest in the arms of a happier lover, 
Go, lovely but faithless young Ellen 
Loraine. 

The moments of rapture, the vow^and 
the token, 
The thrill in my bosom, and burn in 
my brain. 
Go, false one, and laugh at the heart 
thou hast broken, 
Go, lovely, but faithless, young Ellen 
> Loraine. 



A LAST APPEAL. 

love, my days are not so very bright, 
Nor is the world to me so very fair, 

That I can learn to live without the light 
Of your sweet eyes, and what Love 
shows me there. 
Dear, think a little ere you cast away 
All hope from me, all gladness from my 
day. 

Say, why must words from those who 
know me not, 
Who cannot know what thoughts are 
in my heart, 
Impose on me so hard and sad a lot, 

And set our lives so very far apart? 
Love, tell me, are those friends so much 
more true 
Than I have been, who showed me 
false to you ? 

1 swear to you my heart has never 

swerved 
In faith and love, and all those things 
are lies, 
Or misconceived, which yet so well have 
served 
To banish me from those most gra- 
cious eyes. 
dearest I have not deserved disdain; 
Consider yet, and trust in me again. 



PATRICK AND BIDDY. 

Patrick and Biddy were engaged, 

And time set to be married; 
But Biddy flirted, Pat got mad, 

And so the plan miscarried. 

Then Biddy soothed her wounded heart, 

And was to Michael wed; 
Michael fell down between two cars 

And home was carried, dead. 



"That was a lucky 'scape, 1 ' said Pat, 
"Fur if I'd married Biddy, 

I would have been in Michael's place, 
And she'd have been my widdy." 








I 
m 

D 
O 

z 

03 




' 



31 




y.r< 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




BLACK AND BLUE EYES. 

The brilliant black eye 
May in triumph let fly 
All its darts without caring who feels 
'em; 
But the soft eyes of blue, 
Though it scatters wounds too, 
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em ! 
Dear Fanny! 

The black eye may say, 
"Come and worship my ray; 
By adoring, perhaps you may move me!" 
But the blue eye, half hid, 
Says, from under its lid, 
"I love, and am yours, if you love me!" 
Dear Fanny! 

Then tell me, why, 

In that lovely blue eye, 
Not a charm of its tint I discover; 

Or why should you wear 

The only blue pair 
That ever said "No" to a lover? 
Dear Fanny! 



LOVE'S MEMORY. 

I am undone: there is no living, none, 
If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
That I should love a bright particular 

star, 
And think to wed it, he is so above me: 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
The ambition in my love thus plagues 

itself: 
The hind that would be mated by the 

lion 
Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though 

a plague, 
To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his 

curls, 
In our heart's table, — heart too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor: 
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous 

fancy 
Must sanctify his relics. 

fe ^ ■ < ' ! 



ROBBERY. 

What! rob a man of his beer, 

And give him good victuals instead — 
Your heart's very hard, sir, I fear, 

Or else you are soft in the head. 

What! rob a poor man of his mug. 
And give him a house of his own, 

With kitchen and parlor so snug! — 
'T is enough to draw blood from a stone. 

What! rob a poor man of his glass, 
And teach him to read and to write! 

What! save him from being an ass! 
'Tis nothing but malice and spite. 

What! rob a poor man of his ale, 

And prevent him from beating his wife, 

From being locked up in a jail, 
With penal employment for life! 

What! rob a poor man of his beer, 
And keep him from starving his child! 

It makes one feel awfully queer, 

And I'll thank you to draw it more 
mild. 



HOW CRUEL IS FATE. 

There was a young man with a shaddock, 
Who met a young maid with' a haddock. 
He thought, " How I wish 
She would give me that fish, 
In legal exchange for my shaddock." 

The maiden, who did not like haddock, 
Thought, " 0, what a beautiful shaddock, 

If I were not so shy, 

I should certainly try 
If he'd give me that fruit for my had- 
dock." 

He went on his way with his shaddock; 

She went on her way with her haddock; 
And so cruel is fate, 
That, until 'twas too late, 
Neither one of them heard, 
That by speaking the word, 

He might just as well have had haddock, 

And she might as well have had shad- 
dock. ^ 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




A NEW MOTHER SHIPTON. 

When lawyers fail to take a fee, 
And juries never disagree; 
When politicians are content, 
And landlords don't collect their rent; 
When parties smash all the machines, 
And Boston folks give up their beans; 
When naughty children all die young, 
And girls are born without a tongue; 
When ladies don't take time to hop, 
And officeholders never flop; 
When preachers cut their sermons short, 
And all folk to the church resort; 
When back subscribers all have paid, 
And editors have fortunes made; 
Such happenings will sure portend, 
This world will soon come to an end. 



MARTHY ELLEN. 

There's nothin' in the name to strike 
A feller more'n common-like! 
'T aint liable to git no praise, 
Nor nothin' like it nowadays; 
And yit that name o' hern is jest 
As purty as the purtiest — 
And more 'n that, I 'm here to say 
I'll live a-thinkin' that a-way 

And die for Marthy Ellen. 

It may be I was predjudust 
In favor of it from the fust — 
'Cause I kin recollect jist how 
We met, and hear her mother now 
A callin' of her down the road — 
(The aggravatin' little toad!) — 
And I kin see her, sorter half- 
Way disappointed, turn and laugh 

And mock ber— "Marthy Ellen!" 

Our people never hed no fuss, 

And yit they never took to us; 

We neighbored back and foreds some, 

Until they see she liked to come 

To our house — and me and her 

Was jest together ever'whur 

And all the time — and when they'd see 

That I liked her, and she liked me, 

They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!" 



When we growed up, an' they shet down 
On me an' her a-runnin' roun' 
Together t and her father said 
"He'd never leave her nary red, 
So help him, ef she married me," 
And so on — and her mother, she 
Jest agged the gyrl, and said "she 'lowed 
She 'd ruther see her in her shroud," 
I writ to Marthy Ellen. 

That is, I kind o' took my pen 
In hand, and stated whur and when 
The undersigned would be that night 
With two good hosses, saddled right 
For lively travelin' — in case 
Her folks ud like to jine the race. 
She sent the same note back, and writ 
"The rose is red!" right under it — 
"Your'n, alius — Marthy Ellen." 

That's all, I reckon — nothin' more 
To tell but what you've heerd afore — 
The same old story — sweeter tho' 
For all the trouble, don't you know! 
Old-fashioned name ! and yit it 's jest 
As purty as the purtiest! 
An' more'n that, I'm here to say 
I '11 live a-thinkin' that a-way, 

And die for Marthy Ellen. 



THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM 
BURNS. 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet; 
Though winter wild in tempest toiled, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line, — 
Than kingly robes, and crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more ; it made thee 
mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, — 
While joys above my mind can move, 

For thee and thee alone I live; 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss, — it breaks my heart. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




GOOD AND BETTER. 

A father sat by the chimney-post 
On a winter's day, enjoying a roast; 
By his side a maiden young and fair, 
A girl with a wealth of golden hair; 
And she teases her father stern and cold, 
With a question of duty, trite and old; 
"Say, father, what shall a maiden do 
When a man of merit comes to woo? 
And, father, what of this pain in my 

breast? 
Married or single which is the best? " 

Then the sire of the maiden young and 

fair, 
The girl of the wealth of golden hair; 
He answers as ever do fathers cold, 
To the question of duty trite and old: 
" She who weddeth keeps God's letter; 
She who weds not, doeth better." 
Then meekly answered the maiden fair, 
The girl with the wealth of golden hair; 
" I'll keep the sense of the Holy Letter, 
Content to do well, without doing better." 



WHO WAS KISSED? 

As Annie was carrying the baby one day, 

Tossing aloft the lump of inanity, 
Dear to its father and mother, no doubt, 
To the rest of the world a mere lump 
of humanity, 
Sam came along, and was thinking then, 

may be, 
As much of the nurse as she was of the 
baby. 

" Just look at the baby," cried Ann, in a 
nutter, 
Giving the locks round her fingers a 
twirl; 
" If I was a man I know that I couldn't 
Be keeping my hands off a dear little 
girl." 
And Sam gave a wink, as if to say, " May 

be, 
Of the girls I'd rather hug you than the 
baby!" 



" Now kiss it," she cried, still hugging 

it closer, 
" Its mouth like the roses the honey-bee 

sips! 
Sam stooped to obey, and as heads came 

together, 
There chanced to arise a confusion of 

lips! 
And, as it occurred, it might have been, 

may be, 
That each got a kiss, Sam, Ann, aud the 

baby! 

It 's hard to tell just what then was the 

matter, 
For the baby was the only one innocent 

there; 
And Annie flushed up like a full-blown 

peony; 
And Samuel turned red to the roots of 

his hair; 
So the question is this: — you can answer 

it, may be, — 
Did Annie kiss Sam, or did both kiss the 

baby? 




ANN MARIA. 

It was an old man speaking: — "Lemme 

see, 
It must be forty year an' seven more 
Since Ann Maria died, an' yet I can — 
An' do — remember well the gown she 

wore, 
The color of the curls that strayed upon 
Her shoulders, and the tender bloom that 

made 
Her cheeks like apple blossoms. Deary 

me ! 
She's faded not a mite in all them years, 
But sits there, lookin' at me as she did 
The day I brought her home. You see 

there was 
A sort of romance to it. I've thought 
Often an' often that if I'd the power 
An' skill to write it out, that it would 

read 
Than any novel beautifuller. Ay, 
The fact is Ann Maria had a beau — 
But that ain't any wonder for the gal — 
The smartest, purtiest, best of all around 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




An 1 people said (I thought to bother me, 
Seem' I loved her so) that he an' she 
Kep' company for months before I came, 
An' hinted that she cared a beap for bim. 

But there ! you'd orter seen him. He 

was slim 
An' fine as any lady, an 1 wore shoes 
Wi' gaiters to 'em, and bad holler eyes 
As if he'd never had enough to eat. 
Care for him — Ann Maria? Why, the 

girl 
Had sense, I thought, an 1 knew the dif- 
ference 
' Twixt me, upright as any sapling — 

brown 
As new mahogany — Me! a man! an' such 
A melancholy-lookin' specimen 
As that! Besides, I had a mortgage on 
The old man's farm, an' Ann Maria knew 
Her father owed me money ; an' I said 
That if she'd marry me, I, right away 
Would deed the whole back to her — and 

, I did — 
I did. 

"Well, we was married, an' we made 
As purty a couple as a summer's day 
Could show in any country. An' my wife, 
My Ann Maria, bad a settin' out 
Of china an' house linen; all the rest 
Was needed I provided; and folks said 
I had the best wife man ever had 
In this here world. Fact ! I had every- 
thing 
Just as I wanted it, an' foolishly 
Supposed 'twould always be the same, 

but from 
The day we married Ann Maria failed 
In health, an' strength, an' spirits, that 

she did — 
And in six months I buried her. 
" Folks said 
It was consumption — but consumption 

ne'er 
Ran in her family. 

"I was blind and full 
Of pride an' self-conceit in them there 

days, 
An' neither saw nor comprehended." 

[Here 
The old man lowered his voice]. " But 

I've thought since 




That it might be she loved the white- 
faced chap 
That I despised. A woman's heart, I've 

found, 
Is a queer thing, an' love goes where it 

will— 
Not where it ought; but if she married 

me 
Thro' a mistaken sense of duty, all 
I've got to say is — I've been punished, 

too, 
For I loved her, an' never realized 
That love as when I saw her lyin' white 
An' peaceful in a cotton gown — one with 
A vi'let on it, and around her neck 
A locket with some hair that was not 

mine. 
Then I mistrusted that her heart had 

broke, 
And I said sadly — kissing her good-bye — 
'My dear, I'll never have a wife but you, 
Not tbo' I live to four score years and 

ten!' 
An' I have kep' my word, so mebbe she, 
Knowing that I have loved her truly, may 
Forgive an' love me when we meet again." 



OTHER FELLOWS THINK SO TOO. 

There's just one thing a man can have 

In all this world of w r oe and strife, 
That makes the business not too bad, 

And that one thing's an easy wife. 
Don 't fancy that I love my girl 

For rosy cheeks or raven hair? 
She holds my heart. because she laughs — 

Because she laughs and does n't care. 

I put my boots just where it suits, 

And find them where I put them, too; 
That is a thing, you must allow, 

A chap can very seldom do. 
I leave my papers on my desk; 

She never dusts them in a heap, 
Or takes to light the kitchen stove 

The very one 1 want to keep. 



On winter nights my cozy dame 
Will warm her toes before the fire ; 

She never scolds about the lamp, 
Or wants the wick[a trifle higher. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




On Sundays she is not so fine 
But what her ruffles I can hug; 

I light my pipe just where I please, 
And spill the ashes on the rug. 

The bed is never filled with "shams," 

A thing some women vilely plan 
To worry servants half to death, 

And spoil the temper of a man. 
She lets me sleep to any hour, 

Nor raises any horrid din 
If it just happens, now and then, 

To be quite late when I come in. 

I tell you, Jack, if you would wed, 

Just get a girl who lets thing run; 
She '11 keep her temper like a lamb, 

And help you on to lots of fun. 
Don't look for money, style, or show, 

Or blushing beauty, ripe and rare; 
Just taks the one who laughs at fate — 

Who laughs, and shows she does 'nt 
care. 

You think, perhaps, our household ways 

Are just, perchance, a little mixed; 
Oh, when they get too horrid bad, 

We stir about and get things fixed. 
What compensation has a man 

Who earns his bread by sweat of brow, 
If home is made a battle-ground, 

And life one long, eternal row? 



A KISS AT THE DOOR. 

We were standing in the doorway — 

My little wife and 1 — 
The golden sun upon her hair 

Fell down so silently, 
A small w'hite hand upon my arm, 

What could I ask for more 
Than the kindly glance of loving eyes, 

As she kissed me at the door? 

I know she loves with all her heart 

The one who stands beside! 
And the years have been so joyous 

Since first I called her bride! 
We've had so much of happiness 

Since we met in years before, 
But the happiest time of all was 

When she kissed me at the door. 




Who cares for' wealth or land or gold, 

Or fame or matchless power? 
It does not give the happiness 

Of just one little hour 
With one who loves me as her life — 

She says she "loves me more" — 
And I thought she did this morning, 

When she kissed me at the door. 



At times it seemed that all the world, 

With all its wealth and gold, 
Is very small and poor indeed 

Compared with what I hold! 
And when the clouds hang grim and^dark, 

I only wait the more 
For one who waits my coming step 

To kiss me at the door. 

If she lives till age shall scatter 

The frost upon her head, 
I know she'll love me just the same 

As the morning we were wed. 
But if the angels call her, 

And she goes to heaven before, 
I shall know her when I meet her, 

For she '11 kiss me at the door. 



THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and jf air? 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care? 
Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling 
bird, 

That wantons through the flowering 
thorn; 
Thou minds me o' departed joys, 

Departed — never to return. 

Aft hae I rowed by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 
And ilka bird sang o'jjits love, 

And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its 'thorny tree; 
And my f ause lover stole my rose, 

But ah! he left the thorn wi' me 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




"AH-GOO." 

Vot vas id mine baby vas trying to say 
Ven I goes to bees crib at der preak of 

der day? 
Und oudt vrom der planket peeps ten 

leedle toes, 
So pink und so shveet as der fresb ploom- 

ing rose, 
Und twisting und curling dberuselves all 

aboudt, 
Sbust like dhey vas saying "Ve vant to 

get oudt! 11 
Yhile dot baby looks oup, mit dbose 

brigbt eyes so plue, 
Und don'd could say nodings; sbust only 
"Ah-Goo!" 

Vat vas id mine baby vas dinking aboudt 
Vben dot tbumb goes so quick in his 

sbveet leedle mout, 
Und be looks right avay like he no under- 

shtandt 
Der reason he don'd could quite shvallow 

hees handt; 
Und he digs mit dhose fingers righdt 

into hees eyes, 
Vhich fills hees oldt fadder mit fear und 

surbrise; 
Und vhen mit dhose shimnasdic dricks he 

vas droo, 
He lay back and crow, and say nix budt 
"Ah-Goo!" 

Vot makes dot shmall baby shmile vhen 

he's ashleep; 
Does he dink he vas blaying mit some 

von "bopeep?" 
Der nurse say dbose shmiles vas der sign 

he haf colic — 
More like dot he dhreams he vas hafing 

some frolic; 
I feeds dot oldt nurse mit creen abbles 

some day, 
Und den eef she shmiles I pelief vot she 

say; 
Vhen dot baby got cramps he find some- 
ding to do 
Oxcept shmile, und blay, und keep oup 

hees 

"Ah-Goo!" 



I ask me, somedimes, vhen I looks in dot 

crib; 
"Vill der shirdt- front, von day, dake der 

blace off dot bib; 
Vill dot plue-eyed baby, dot's pooling 

mine hair, 
Know all vat 1 knows aboudt drouble 

und care?" 
Dhen I dink off der vorldt, mit its pride 

und its sins, 
Und I vish dot mineself und dot baby 

vas twins, 
Und all der day long I haf nodings to do 
Budt sbust laugh und crow, und keep 

saying 

"Ah-Goo!" 




COURTING. 



There's lots of fun in courting, 

If you know the way to do it ; 
It's the choicest kind of sporting 

Once you get accustomed to it. 
Do your courting moderately, 

As a business, not a favor ; 
Make haste slowly, it adds greatly 

To the fun a piquant flavor. 

Court your sweatheart in the kitchen, 

In the parlor, in the park ; 
And you'll find the most bewitchin' 

Time for courting after dark. 
Court for love ; most women like it, 

Nay, I am certain they all do ; 
And the fellow who can strike it 

Once will hanker for it, too, 

Court a woman for herself, sir, 

For the virtue that is in her ; 
Don't go courting her for pelf, sir ; 

You will rue it if you win her. 
Court a woman boldly, bravely ; 

Never court her for a fool ; 
When you do, she'll teach you naively 

How a woman scorned can rule. 

Court a woman for a wife, sir, 

For a mother good and true ; 
And my word you'll find this life, sir, 

Paradise enough for you. 
And such courting beats strawberries, 

Peaches frozen in ice cream ; 
Champagne frappe, brandied cherries, 

' Tis a sunny, golden dream. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ONLY A WOMAN. 

" She loves with love that cannot tire : 

And if, ah, woe! she loves alone, 
Through passionate duty love names higher, 

As grass grows taller round a stone." 

Coventry Patmore. 

So, the truth's out. I'll grasp it like a 

snake, — 
It will not slay me. My heart shall not 

break 
Awhile, if only for the children's sake. 

For his, too, somewhat. Let him stand 

unblamed; 
None say, he gave me less than honor 

claimed, 
Except — one trifle scarcely worth being 

named — 

The heart. That's gone. The corrupt 

dead might be 
As easily raised up, breathing, — fair to 

see, 
As he could bring his whole heart back 

to me. 

I never sought him in coquettish sport, 
Or courted him as silly maidens court, 
And wonder when the longed-for prize 
falls short. 

I only loved him, — any woman would: 
But shut my love up till he came and 

sued, 
Then poured it o'er his dry life like a 

flood. 

I was so happy I could make him blest ! — 
So happy that I was his first and best, 
As he mine, — when he took me to his 
breast. 

Ah me ! if only then he had been true ! 
If for one little year, a month or two, 
He had given me love for love, as was my 
due! 

Or had he told me, ere the deed was done, 
He only raised me to his heart's dear 

throne — 
Poor substitute — because the queen was 

gone ! 




0, had he whispered, when his sweetest 

kiss 
Was warm upon my mouth in fancied 

bliss, 
He has kissed another woman even as 

this, — 

It were less bitter ! Sometimes I could 

weep 
To be thus cheated, like a child asleep; — 
Were not my anguish far too dry and 

deep. 

So I built my house upon another's 

ground; 
Mocked with a heart just caught at the 

rebound, — 
A cankered thing that looked so firm and 

sound. 

And when that heart grew colder, — cold- 
er still, 

1, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfil, 
Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will, 

All, — anything but him. It was to be 
The full draught others drink up care- 
lessly 
Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for 
me. 

I say again, — he gives me all I claimed, 
I and my children never shall be shamed: 
He is a just man, — he will live unblamed. 



Only — God, God, to cry for bread, 
And get a stone ! Daily to lay my head 
Upon a bosom where the old love's dead ! 

Dead? — Fool! It never lived. It only 

stirred 
Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None 

heard: 
So let me bury it without a word. 

He'll keep that other woman from my 

sight. 
I know not if her face be foul or bright; 
I only know that it was his delight — 



^ 



/» 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




489" ? 



As his was mine; I only know he stands 
Pale, at the touch of their long-severed 

hands, 
Then to a flickering smile his lips com- 
mands, 

Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger 

show. 
He heeds not. When the ship's gone 

down, I trow, 
We little reck whatever wind may blow. 

And so my silent moan begins and ends, 
No world's laugh or world's taunt, no 

pity of friends 
Or sneer of foes, with this my torment 

blends. 

None knows, — none heeds. I have a 

little pride; 
Enough to stand up, wifelike, by his side, 
With the same smile as when I was his 

bride. 

And when I take his children to my arms; 

They will not miss these fading, worth- 
less charms; 

Their kiss — ah! unlike his — all pain 
disarms. 

And haply as the solemn years go by, 
He will think sometimes, with regretful 

sigh, 
The other woman was less true than I. 



THE GROOMSMAN TO EIS MIS- 
TRESS. 

Every wedding, says the proverb, 
Makes another, soon or late; 

Never yet was any marriage 
Entered in the book of fate, 

But the names were also written 
Of the patient pair that wait. 

Blessings then upon the morning 
When my friend, with fondest look, 

By the solemn rites' permission, 
To himself his mistress took, 

And the destinies recorded 
Other two within their book. 




While the priest fulfilled his office, 
Still the ground the lovers eyed, 

And the parents and the kinsmen 
Aimed their glances at the bride; 

But the groomsmen eyed the virgins 
Who were waiting at her side. 

Three there were that stood beside her; 

One was dark, and one was fair; 
But nor fair nor dark the other, 

Save her Arab eyes and hair; 
Neither dark nor fair I call her, 

Yet she was the fairest there. 

While her groomsman — shall I own it? 

Yes, to thee, and only thee — 
Gazed upon this dark-eyed maiden, 

Who was fairest of the three, 
Thus he thought: " How blest the bridal 

Where the bride were such as she ! " 

Then I mused upon the adage, 
Till my wisdom was perplexed, 

And I wondered, as the churchman 
Dwelt upon his holy text, 

Which of all who heard his lesson 
Should recpuire the service next. 

Whose will be the next occasion 
For the flowers, the feast, the wine? 

Thine, perchance, my dearest lady; 
Or, who knows? — it may be mine; 

What if 't were — forgive the fancy — 
What if 'twere — both mine and thine? 



HOME-COMING. 

When brothers leave the old hearthstone 

And go, each one, a separate way, 
We think, as we go on alone 

Along our pathway, day by day, 
Of olden scenes and faces dear, 

Of voices that we miss so much; 
And memory brings the absent near, 

Until we almost feel the touch 
Of loving hands, and hear once more 

The dear old voices ringing out, 
•As in that happy time of yore 

Ere life had caught a shade of doubt. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




If you should place against your ear 

The shell you plundered from the sea, 
Down to its hidden heart you'd hear 

A low and tender melody; 
A murmur of a restless tide, 

A yearning born of memory; 
And though its yearnings be denied, 

The shell keeps singing of the sea. 
And sometimes when old memories throng 

Like ghosts the memories of our soul, 
We feel the yearning, deep and strong, 

A longing we cannot control, 
To lay our care and business by, 

And seek the old familiar ways, 
And cross home's threshold, and sit down 

With comrades of our earlier days. 

For though our paths are sundered wide, 

We feel that we are brothers yet, 
And by and by we turn aside 

From hurrying care and worldly fret, 
And each one wanders back to meet 

His brother by the hearth of home; 
I think the meeting is more sweet 

Because so far and wide we roam. 
We cross the lengthening bridge of years, 

Meet outstretched hands and faces true; 
The silent eloquence of tears 

Speaks welcome that no words can do. 

But ah, the meeting holds regret! 

The sad, sad story, often told, 
Of hands that ours have often met, 

Close folded under churchyard mould; 
Of eyes that smiled into our own, 

Closed in the dreamless sleep of Cod; 
A sweeter rest was never known 

Than theirs, beneath the grave's white 
sod. 
A tender thought for them to-night, 

A tribute tear from memory; 
Beneath their covering of white 

Sweet may their dreamless slumber be. 




ABERNETHY'S PRESCRIPTION. 

An Irishman called in great haste upon 
Dr. Abernethy, stating that, " Be jabers, 
my boy Tim has swallowed a mouse." 
"Then, be jabers," said Abernethy, "tell 
our boy Tim to swallow a cat." 



THE LOST SISTER. 

They waked me from my sleep, I knew 

not why, 
And bade me hasten where a midnight 

lamp 
Cleaned from an inner chamber. There 

she lay, 
With brow so pale, who yester-morn 

breathed forth 
Through joyous smiles her superflux of 

bliss 
Into the hearts of others. By her side 
Her hoary sire, with speechless sorrow, 

gazed 
Upon the stricken idol, — all dismayed 
Beneath his God's rebuke. And she who 

nursed 
That fair young creature at her gentle 

breast, 
And oft those sunny locks had decked 

with buds 
Of rose and jasmine, shuddering wiped 

the dews 
Which death distils. 

The sufferer just had given 
Her long farewell, and for the last, last 

time 
Touched with cold lips his check who led 

so late 
Her footsteps to the altar, and received 
In deep transport of an ardent heart 
Her vow of love. And she had striven 

to press 
That golden circlet with her bloodless 

hand 
Back on his finger, which he kneeling 

gave 
At the bright bridal morn. So there she 

lay 
In calm endurance, like the smitten lamb 
Wounded in flowery pastures, from whose 

breast 
The dreaded bitterness of death had 

passed. — 
But a faint wail disturbed the silent 

scene, 
And in its nurse's arms a new-born babe 
Was borne in utter helplessness along, 
Before that dying eye. 

Its gathered film 
Kindled one moment with a sudden glow/ 



*o 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




Of tearless agony, — and fearful pangs, 
Racking the rigid features, told how 

strong 
A mother's love doth root itself. One 

cry 
Of bitter anguish, blent with fervent 

prayer, 
Went up to heaven, — and, as its cadence 

sank, 
Her spirit entered there. 

Morn after morn 
Rose and retired; yet still as in a dream 
I seemed to move. The certainty of loss 
Fell not at once upon me. Then I wept 
As weep the sisterless. — For thou wert 

fled, 
My only, my beloved, my sainted one, — 
Twin of my spirit! and my numbered 

days 
Must wear the sable of that midnight 

hour 
Which rent thee from me. 



THE HERO OF THE TOWER. 

Long time ago, when Austria was young, 
There came a herald to Vienna's gates, 
Bidding the city fling them open wide 
Upon a certain day; for then the king 
Would enter, with his shining retinue. 

Forthwith the busy streets were pleas- 
ure paths; 
And that which seemed but now a field 

of toil, 
With weeds of turbulence and tricky 

greed, 
Flashed into gardens blooming full of 

flowers. 
Beauty blushed deeper, now the rising 

sun 
Of royalty upon it was to shine; 
Wealth cast its nets of tinsel and of gold 
To catch the kingly eye; and wisdom 

merged 
Itself into the terms of an address 
Which the old mayor sat up nights to 

learn 
(A needy poet wrote the same for him). 
No maiden fluttered through the narrow 

streets 




That pondered not what ribbons she 

should wear; 
No window on the long procession's 

route 
But had its tenants long engaged ahead. 

But the old sexton of St. Joseph's 
church 

Moped dull and sulky through the smil- 
ing crowd, 

A blot upon the city's pleasure-page. 

"What runs wrong with you, uncle?" 
was the cry — 

"You who have been the very youngest 
boy 

Of all the old men that the city had, 

Who loved processions more than per- 
quisites, 

And rolled a gala day beneath your 
tongue — 

What rheumatism has turned that tem- 
per lame? 

Speak up, and make your inward burden 
ours." 

The old man slowly walked until he 

came 
Unto the market-place, then feebly stopt 
As if to talk; and a crowd gathered soon, 
As men will when a man has things to 

say. 
And thus he spoke: "For fifty years and 

more 
I have been sexton of St. Joseph's church, 
St. Joseph would have fared ill but for 

me. 
And though my friend, the priest, may 

smile at this 
And wink at you an unbelieving eye, 
My office shines in heaven as well as his. 
Although it was not mine to make the 

church 
Godly, I kept it clean, and that stands 

next. 
If I have broke one circle of my sphere, 
Let some one with straight finger point 

it out. 

"And no procession in these fifty years 
Has marched the streets with aught like 

kingly tread, 
But on the summit of St. Joseph's spire 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




I stood erect and waved a welcome-flag, 
With scanty resting-place beneath my 

feet, 
And the wild breezes clutching at my 

beard. 
It took some nerve to stand so near to 

heaven 
And fling abroad its colors. Try it, priest. 

u But I am old; most of my manhood's 

fire 
Is choked in cold white ashes; and my 

nerves 
Tremble in every zephyr like the leaves. 
What can I do? — the flag must not be 

missed 
From the cathedral's summit. I've no 

son, 
Or he should bear my banner, or my curse. 
I have a daughter: she shall wave the 

flag! 

" And this is how my girl shall wave 
the flag. 
Ten suitors has she; and the valiant one 
Who, strong of heart and will, can climb 

that perch, 
And do what I so many times have done, 
Shall take her hand from mine at his de- 
scent. 
Speak up, Vienna lads! and recollect 
How much of loveliness faint heart e'er 
won." 

Then there was a clamor m the callow 

breasts 
Of the Vienna youth; for she was far 
The sweetest blossom of that city's vines. 
Many a youngster's eye climbed furtively 
Where the frail spire-tip trembled in the 

breeze, 
Then wandered to the cot wherein she 

dwelt. 
But none spoke up, till Gabriel Peter- 

sheim, 
Whose ear this proclamation strange had 

reached, 
Came rushing through the crowd, and 

boldlv said: 



"I am your daughter's suitor, and the 
one 



She truly loves; but scarce can gain a 
smile 

Until I win her father's heart as well; 

And you, old man, have frowned on me, 
and said 

I was too young, too frivolous, too wild 

And had not manhood worthy of her 
hand. 

Mark me to-morrow as I mount yon spire, 

And mention, when I bring the flag to 
you, 

Whether 'twas ever waved more glori- 
ously." 

And thus the old man answered: 

"Climb your way; 

And if a sensef ul breeze should push you 
off, 

And break that raw and somewhat worth- 
less neck, 

I cannot greatly mourn; but climb your 
way, 

And you shall have the girl if you suc- 
ceed." 

High on the giddy pinnacle next day 
Waited the youth; but not till evening's 

sun 
Marched from the western gates, that 

tardy king 
Rode past the church. And though 

young Gabriel's nerves 
Were weakened by fatigue and want of 

food, 
He pleased the people's and the monarch's 

eye, 
And flashed a deeper thrill of love thro' 

one 
Who turned her sweet face often up to 

him, 
And whose true heart stood with him on 

the tower. 

Now, when the kingly pageant all had 
passed, 

He folded up the flag, and with proud 
smiles 

And prouder heart prepared him to de- 
scend. 

But the small trap-door through which 
he had crept 










A BOOK OP POEMS 




Had by some rival's hand been barred; 

and he 
With but a hand-breadth's space where 

he might cling, 
Was left alone to live there, or to die. 

Guessing the truth, or shadow of the 
truth, 

He smiled at first, and said: "Well, let 
them voice 

Their jealousy by such a paltry trick — 

They laughed an hour; my laugh will 
longer be! 

Their joke will soon be dead, and I re- 
leased. 1 ' 

But an hour, and two others, slowly 
came, 

And then he murmured: "This is no 
boy's sport; 

It's a silent signal, which means ' Death !' " 

He shouted, but no answer came to him, 
Not even an echo, on that lofty perch. 
He waved his hands in mute entreaty, but 
The darkness crept between him and his 
friends. 

A half-hour seemed an age, and still he 
clung. 
He looked down at the myriad city lights, 
Twinkling like stars upon a lowlier sky, 
And prayed: "Oh, blessed city of my 

birth, 
In which full many I love, and one o'er- 

well, 
Or I should not be feebly clinging here, 
Is there not 'mongst those thousands one 

kind heart 
To help me? or must I come back to you 
Crashing my way through grim, untime- 
ly death?" 
Rich sounds of mirth came faintly — but 
no help. 

Another hour went by, and still he 
clung. 

He braced himself against the rising 
breeze, 

And wrapped the flag around his shiver- 
ing form, 

And thus he prayed unto the merry 
winds: 




"Oh, breeze, you bear no tales of truer 

love 
Than I can give you at this lonely height! 
Tell but my danger to the heart 1 serve, 
And she will never rest till I am free! " 
The winds pressed hard against him as he 

clung, 
Ah! well-nigh wrenched him from that 

scanty hold, 
But made no answer to the piteous plea. 

Hour after hour went by, and still he 

held.— 
Weak, dizzy, reeling — to his narrow 

perch. 
It was a clear and queenly summer night; 
And every star seemed hanging from the 

sky 
As if 't were bending down to look at 

him. 
And thus he prayed to the far-shining 

stars: 
"Oh • 

this, 
Can you not see me, clinging helpless 

here? 
Can you not flash a message to some eye, 
Or throw your influence on some friendly 

brain 
To rescue me?" A million sweet-eyed 

stars 
Gave smiles to the beseecher, but no help. 

And so the long procession of the night 
Marched slowly by, and each scarce hour 

was hailed 
By the great clock beneath; and still he 

clung 
Unto the frail preserver of his life, 
And held, not for his life, but for his 

love — 
Held while the spiteful breezes wrenched 

at him; 
While Hope and Fear made him their 

battle-ground, 
And ravaged fiercely through his heart 

and brain. 
He moaned, he wept, he prayed again; 

he prayed — 
Grown desperate and half raving in his 

woe — 
To everything in earth, or air, or sky; 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




To the fair streets, now still and silent 

grown; 
To the cold roofs, now stretched 'twixt 

him and help; 
To the dumb, distant hills that heedless 

slept; 
To the white clouds that slowly fluttered 

past; 
To his lost mother in the sky above; 
And then he prayed to God. 

About that time 
The maiden dreamed she saw her lover, 

faint, 
Clinging for life ; and with a scream 

uprose, 
And rushed to the old sexton's yielding 

door, 
Granting no peace to him until he ran 
To find the truth, and give the boy 

release. 

An hour ere sunrise he came feebly 

down, 
Grasping the flag, and claiming his fair 

prize. 
But what a wreck to win a blooming girl! 
His cheeks were wrinkled, and of yellow 

hue, 
His eyes were sunken, and his curling 

hair 
Gleamed white as snow upon the distant 

Alps. 

But the young maiden clasped his weary 

head 
In her white arms, and soothed him like 

a child; 
And said, - You lived a life of woe for me 
Up on the spire, and now look old enough 
Even to please my father; but soon I 
Will nurse you back into your youth 

again." 

And soon the tower bells sung his wed- 
ding song. 

The old-young man was happy; and they 
both, 

Cheered by the well-earned bounty of the 
king, 

Lived many years within Vienna's gates. 




A RURAL REMINISCENCE. 

The sermon was long and the preacher 

was prosy, 
The cushion was soft and the corner 
was cosy; 

And musing, I knew, 
By my side in the pew, 
Was a dear little face that was dimpled 
and rosy. 

A stray bit of lace and the curl of a 

feather 
Lay close to my cheek, and I didn't care 
whether 

The sermon was long, 
Or flirting was wrong 
In a lonely back pew, as we knelt down 
together. 

In reading the prayers we had one book 

between us; 
So sweet was that smile, had nobody 
seen us, 

While bent on our knees 
(Oh, how Cupid did tease!) 
I had stolen a kiss, with the prayer-book 
to screen us. 

In the oriel window the sunlight was 

gleaming, 
In my drowsy old brain I felt love fancies 
teeming; 

Then my heart gave a thump — 
But my head got a bump 
On the back of the pew — I had only 
been dreaming. 



IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT. 

If I should die to-night. 
My friends would look upon my quiet face 
Before they laid it in its resting-place 
And deem that death had left it almost 

fair; 
And, laying snow-white flowers against 

my hair, 
Would smooth it down with tearful ten- 
derness, 
And fold my hands with lingering caress, 
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




If I should die to-night 
My friends would call to mind, with 

loving thought, 
Some kindly deed the icy hands had 

wrought; 
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said; 
Errands on which the willing feet had 

sped; 
The memory of my selfishness and pride, 
My hasty words, would all be put aside, 
And so 1 should be loved and mourned 

to-night. 

If I should die to-night, 

Even hearts estranged would turn once 
more to me, 

Recalling other days remorsefully; 

The eyes that chill me with averted glance 

Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, 

And soften, in the old familiar way; 

For who could war with dumb, uncon- 
scious clay! 

So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night. 

Oh, friends, I pray to-night, 
Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold 

brow — 
The way is lonely, let me feel them now. 
Think geutly of me; I am travel-worn; 
My faltering feet are pierced with many 

a thorn. 
Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I 

plead ! 
When dreamless rest is mine I shall not 

need 
The tenderness for which I long to-night. 



LIVING. 



We can only live once; and death's terrors 

With life's bowers and roses entwine, 
And our lives would be darkened by errors 

Did we ever, like cats, possess nine! 
They would be, perhaps, all of them 
wasted, 

And recklessly squandered away, 
And not half of the joys would be tasted 

That one life can embrace in a day. 




Let the lives that we live be worth living; 

Let the days that we spend be well 
spent; 
Let us save for the pleasure of giving, 

And not borrow at fifty per cent; 
Let us never cease loving and learning, 

And use life for its noblest of ends; 
Then when dust to its dust is returning, 

We shall live in the hearts of our 
friends. 



TWO. 

We two will stand in the shadow here, 

To see the bride as she passes by; 
Ring soft and low, ring loud and clear, 

Ye chiming bells that swing on high! 
Look! look! she comes! The air grows 
sweet 
With the fragrant breath of the orange- 
blooms, 
And the flowers she treads beneath her 
feet 
Die in a flood of rare perfumes! 

She comes! she comes! The happy bells 

With their joyous clamor fill the air, 
While the great organ dies and swells, 

Soaring to trembling hights of prayer! 
Oh ! rare are her robes of silken sheen, 

And the pearls that gleam on her 
bosom's snow; 
But rarer the grace of her royal mein, 

Her hair's fine gold, and her cheek's 
young glow. 

Dainty and fair as a folded rose, 

Fresh as a violet, dewy sweet, 
Chaste as a lily, she hardly knows 

That there are rough paths for other 
feet. 
For Love hath shielded her; Honor kept 

Watch beside her night and day; 
And Evil out from her sight hath crept, 

Trailing its slow length far away. 

Now in her perfect womanhood, 

In all the wealth of her matchless 
charms, 

Lovely and beautiful, pure and good, 
She yields herself to her lover's arms. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




Hark! how the jubilant voices ring! 

Lo! as we stand in the shadow here, 
While far above us the gay bells swing, 

I catch the gleam of a happy tear! 

The pageant is over. Come with me 

To the other side of the town, I pray, 
Ere the sun goes down in the darkening 
sea, 

And night falls around us, chill and 
gray. 
In the dim church porch an hour ago 

We waited the bride's fair face to see; 
Now life has a sadder sight to show, 

A darker picture for you and me. 

No need to seek for the shadow here, 

There are shadows lurking everywhere; 
These streets in the brightest days are 
drear, 
And black as the blackness of despair. 
But this is the house. Take heed, my 
friend, 
The stairs are rotten, the way is dim; 
And up the flights, as we still ascend, 
Creep, stealthily, phantoms dark and 
grim. 

Enter this chamber. Day by day, 

Alone in this chill and ghostly room, 
A child — a woman — which is it, pray? — 

Despairingly waits for the hour of 
doom ! 
Ah! as she wrings her hands so pale, 

No gleam of a wedding-ring you see; 
There's nothing to tell. You know the 
tale — 

God help her now in her misery! 

I dare not judge her. I only know 

That love was to her a sin and a snare, 
While to the bride of an hour ago 

It brought all blessings its hands could 
bear! 
I only know that to one it came 

Laden with honor and joy and peace; 
Its gifts to the other were woe and shame, 

And a burning pain that will never 
cease. 




I only know that the soul of one 

Has been a pearl in a golden case; 
That of the other a pebble thrown 

Idly down in a wayside place, 
Where all day long strange footsteps trod, 

And the bold, bright sun drank up the 
dew! 
Yet both were women. 0, righteous God, 

Thou only canst judge between the two! 



ACCEPTED, AND WILL APPEAR, 

One evening, while reclining 
In my easy-chair, repining 
Over the lack of true religion, and the 
dearth of common sense, 
A solemn-visaged lady, 
Who was surely on the shady 
Side of thirty, entered proudly, and to 
crush me did commence: 

"I sent a poem here, sir," 
Said the lady, growing fiercer, 
"And the subject which I'd chosen, you 
remember, sir, was Spring. 
But, altho' I've scanned your paper, 
Sir, by sunlight, gas and taper, 
I've discovered of that poem \ not a soli- 
tary thing." 

She was muscular and wiry, 
And her temper, sure, was fiery, 
And I knew to pacify her I would have 
to — fib like fun, 
So I told her that her verses 
Which were great, had come to — 
bless us, 
We 'd received just sixty-one on " Spring," 
of which we 'd printed one. 

And I added, " We 've decided 
That they 'd better be divided 
Among the years that follow — one to 
each succeeding spring, 
So your work, I 'm pleased to men- 
tion, 
Will receive our best attention 
In the year of nineteen-forty, when the 
birds begin to sing!" 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




GAMBLING. 

It is possible that a wise and good man 
may be prevailed on to game; but it is 
impossible that a professed gamester 
should be a wise and good man. 



THE KING'S LESSON. 

Lokman, the slave of Talmi, stood behind 

His master's table as he sat at meat; 
And oftentimes it pleased the royal mind 

With Lokman to divide some morsel 
sweet 

Of his abundance. It was his conceit 
One day to feed him with a melon-rind 

Acrid and bitter, and unfit to eat; 
This with no scornful purpose or unkind, 
But for a jest; and the king looked to see 

The slave's grimaces, but he looked in 
vain; 
For Lokman ate the melon placidly, 

Nor of its evil taste did once complain. 
It might have been — for all was said and 

done — 
As sweet a fruit as ripens in the sun. 

Then wonder at such patience came in- 
stead 
Of the light laughter for which Talmi 
planned: 
"You eat the thing, and make no sign!" 
he said: 
"You, that are used to dainties from 

my hand!" 
"Yes," said the slave, "it was my lord's 
command 
That I should eat; and when I have been 
fed 
Daily upon the fatness of the land, 
Should I for this thing be disquieted? 
Bitter or sweet, it is enough for me 
That Talmi gives it." And for this reply 
The King was pleased to make his 
bondsman free — 
Acknowledging a lesson learned thereby. 
" God is my King; henceforth the King 

shall meet 
With equal grace His bitter gifts and 
sweet." 
32 



SADIE'S TRIALS. 

I'm tired to death of keeping still 

And being good all day, 
I wish my mammy's company 

Would think to go away. 
I 've wished and wished they'd think of 
it, 

And hoped they would get thro! 
But they must talk forever first, 

They almost always do. 

I heard Tom calling to me once, 

He 's launched his boat, I know, 
I wanted to go out and help, 

But mammy's eyes said no; 
The ladies talk such stuff to me 

It makes me sick to hear, 
It 's "how beautiful your hair curls, 

Or how red your cheeks are, dear." 

I 'd ten times rather run a race 

Than play my tunes and things, 
And I would n't swap my dogs and bells 

For forty diamond rings; 
I've got no 'finement, auntie says, 

I "spect" she knows the best, 
But I do n't need much to climb a tree, 

Or hunt the squirrel's nest. 

Girls are like berries, papa says, 

Sweeter for running wild, 
But Aunt Melissa shakes her head 

Aud calls me horrid child; 
I '11 always be a romp, she knows, 

But sure 's my name is Sadie, 
I '11 fool them all some dreadful day 

By growing up a lady. 



THE BEST TIME FOR MARRIAGE. 

The best time for marriage will be 
towards thirty, for as the younger times 
are unfit, either to choose or to govern a 
wife and family, so, if thou stay long, 
thou shalt hardly see the education of 
thy children, who, being left to strangers, 
are in effect lost; and better were it to be 
unborn than ill-bred, for thereby thy pos- 
terity shall either perish or remain a 
shame to thy name and family. 






3$®3 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A LAST APPEAL. 

love, my days are not so very bright, 
Nor is the world to me so very fair, 

That I can learn to live without the light 
Of your sweet eyes, and what Love 

shows me there. 
Dear, think a little ere you cast away 
All hope from me, all gladness from my 

day. 

Say, why must words from those who 

know me not, 
Who cannot know what thoughts are 

in my heart, 
Impose on me so hard and sad a lot, 
! And set our lives so very far apart? 
Love, tell me, are those friends so much 

more true 
Than I have been, who showed me false 

to you? 

1 swear to you my heart has never swerved 

In faith and love, and all those things 
are lies, 
Or misconceived, which yet so well have 
served 
To banish me from those most gracious 
eyes. 
dearest, I have not deseiwed disdain; 
Consider yet, and trust in me again ! 



THE ONE I LOVE. 

Sweeter far, the sound of thy dear voice 
Than the sweet tones when angel hosts 

rejoice. 
Dearer the glance of thy bright eyes to 

mine 
Than all the light from eyes more bright 

than thine. 
Softer to me the touch of thy caressing 

hand 
Than the soft breath of summer o'er 

some fairy land, 
And the bright hours that find you by 

my side, 
Bid me be happy and forget all else beside, 
Glad leaps the heart when thou, dear one, 

art near. 



O 



Oh happy heart, that beats and feels no 

fear 
That some dark hour we two, who love, 

shall part. 
Oh me! the thought brings anguish to 

my heart, 
And from the bitter pain that rises at 

the thought, 
Methinks, dear heart, if these dark fears 

should come to aught — 
If from your eyes the light was doomed 

to go 
And I thy bright smile should no longer 

know — 
If thy dear form were locked in death's 

embrace 
And I no more could see thy happy face, 
Earth's brightness all would fade. This 

life would be 
A weary, trackless desert without thee, 
That parting all the joy from life would 

take, 
And bid my heart in all its anguish break, 
For here on life's ever-changing sea 
My darling, thou art all the world to me. 



A DOCTOR'S EPITAPH. 

Doctor I. Letsome wrote the following 
epitaph for his own tombstone, but it is 
not likely that he allowed his friends, or 
at least his patieuts, to read it until he 
was under the turf, or out of practice: — 

When people 's ill, they comes to I; 

I physics, bleeds and sweats 'em. 
Sometimes they lives, sometimes they die; 

What's that to I? I. Letsome (let's 
'em). 



A WISHBONE, 

He held one side and she the other; 

What did he wish? I could not tell; 
He pulled, she pulled, and then her mother 

Came in; perchance 'twas just as well, 
For after it was passed he told me • 

His wish, a wish I should not name, 
'T was for a kiss; a bird sang near me 

And told me hers; it was the same. 



'■£& 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHEMICAL ANALYSIS. 

A Scotch laird, on a market day in Kil- 
marnock, went into a tavern with a friend 
and oi-dered some whisky. The waiter, 
when he set down the measure, asked if 
they wished to have water along with the 
spirits. "Na," said the laird; "had ye 
no better try to tak' out the water that 's 
in't already?" 



TOLD AT THE TAVERN. 

I can see you 're a gentleman; time has 
been — 
Though you wouldn't think it to look 
at me, dressed 
In these beggarly rags, and bloated with 
gin — 
I held my head as high as the best. 

Reduced? I should say so! Stand a 
treat — 
I 'm shaky, you see, and dead for a 
drink — 
And then, if you've time, I'll tell you 
complete, 
A tale that'll quicken your blood, as I 
think. 

I was a countryman born, brought up on 
a farm 
(It fell to my share when the old man 
died), 
Got married at twenty, and little of 
harm 
Was prophesied then of me and my 
bride. 

Things ran along smooth, and money 
came in, 
And my acres increased as the years 
went by, 
And nothing of sorrow, or care, or sin, 
Came thither to trouble my wife and I. 

We'd been married, I guess, a dozen of 
years, 
When our only child, a girl, was born. 
A husband yourself? You '11 pardon my 
tears, 
For the birth at night there was death 
at morn. 



The girl grew up — was the village queen, 

Reigning by right of her violet eyes, 
Of her cheek's rich bloom and marvellous 
sheen 
Of the goldenest ringlets under the 
skies. 

Poetical? Ay; but she was a saint, 
And her pure, pale brow forever ap- 
pears 
When I tell the tale; and the old-time 
plaint 
Stirs itself to a language of tears. 

What gold could buy she had only to 
ask; 
She was all I had, and should I be 
mean? 
To humor her whims was an envious 
task; 
I'd have sold my soul for my gold- 
haired queen. 

The love I lavished she paid tenfold; 

I was all to her as she all to me; 
No angel in heaven of gentler mold, 

Or tenderer, lovinger heart than she. 

But — your pardon again — her girlhood's 
prime — 
Well, the child had no mother, knew 
naught of sin. 
This bunch at my throat! — please spare 
me a dime 
To wash it down with a tumbler of 
gin. 

In her beautiful prime the tempter came; 

Through such as he the angels fell; 
He had a wealth of words, and mein, and 
a name — 
Ah, he bore a the title of "Gentleman" 
well! 

He made long prayers, to be seen of 
men; 
Sinners he urged from the wrath to 
come; 
He met my innocent girl — and then — 
Let's mix that gin with a trifle of 



rum: 



:5<iO 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




You know it all ? Yes, the tale is old, 
And worn to threads by poets and 
priests; 
But it's little you know of the heart I 
hold — 
Of its bitter, blasted, Dead Sea feasts. 

Did slie die? Of course! To fall was 
death ; 
Could she live dishonored, forsaken, 
betrayed ? 
He? Somewhere, I suppose, his scented 
breath 
Lifts eloquent prayers to Him who 
made. 

Remorse ? Ay, ay; to the utmost stretch ! 
Repentence? Don't pray, sir, trifle 
with me; 
I could curse whoever would plead for 
a wretch 
So lost to honor and manhood as he! 

And so, as you see, Itook to drink; 

Can you stand another? I'm in your 
debt: 
A pitiful tale? I should rather think! 

And true as Cod's own gospel, you bet. 



SAYINCS. 



I often hear affectionate husbands call 
their wives " My duck." I wonder if this 
aint a sly allusion to their big bills. 

When a man's dog deserts him on ac- 
count of his poverty, he can't get much 
lower down, especially by land. 

As a general thing, when a woman 
wears the breeches, she has a good right 
to wear them. 

"No more, thank you," as the cat said 
when it smelt the ammunia bottle. 

I am violently opposed to ardent spirits 
as a beverage, but for manufacturing 
purposes, I think a little of it tastes good. 

You can tell just about what a man 
will do by hearing him tell what he has 
done. 



When you have serious trouble, do as 
the dogs do when they get whipped: go 
in secret and lick your sores till they get 
well, and then look up another fight. 

"Nothing is certain," is a common 
aphorism; but if nothing is certain, how 
can it be certain that nothing is certain? 

Can a blind man be held liable and be 
made to pay for a bill made payable at 
sight? 

He that hath little and wants less is 
richer than he who hath much and wants 
more. 

In youth we are looking forward to 
things that are to come; in old age we 
are looking backward to things that are 
past. 

When Xerxes wrote to Leonidas, the 
Spartan hero, asking him to surrender his 
arms, the reply he obtained was this brief 
one: "Come and take them." 

Idleness and ignorance covers a man 
with nakedness. 

Remember, boys, that the little king- 
bird attacks and puts to rapid flight the 
great bald eagle. 

The hand that can make a pie is a con- 
tinual feast to the husband that marries 
it. 

The jolly fellow who split his sides with 
laughter, has had them repaired. 



THE SUN WILL NEVER TAN YOU. 

Oh, the sun will never tan you 

If your face is covered well; 
And it seldom rains upon you 

If you have an umber-el. 
And a friend will not forsake you 

If you prosper day by day; 
And a mule will never kick you 

If you keep from him away. 
But — and this is where the hitch is, 

For you 've noticed it is so — 
Your proboscis always itches 

If your hands are in the dough. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A WISH. 

O'er roses may your footsteps move, 
Your smiles be ever smiles of love. 






THE SCHOOL MARM. 

0, School Marm ! 

Thou who teachest the young idea 

How to scoot, and spankest the erstwhile 

Festive small boy with a hand that taketh 

the trick! 
Who also lammeth him with a hickury 

switch, 
And crowneth him by laying the weight 
Of a ruler upon his shoulders, 
0! 

Thou art a daisy! 

Thou maketh him the national emblem — 
Red, white, and blue — 
Thou furnisheth the stripes, 
And he seeth the stars. 
0, School Marm! 
We could n't do without thee, 
And we do n't want to try! 
Thou art lovely aud accomplished 
Above all women, and if thou art 
Not married, it is because thou art 
Too smart to be caught in that way! 
All school marms are women, 
But all women are not school marms, 
And angels pedagogic, 
That 's where thou hast the bulge on thy 

sisters ! 
0, School Marm! 
Thou mayest not get much pay here 

below, 
But cheap education is a national 

speciality, 
And thou wilt get thy reward in heaven; 
The only drawback being that thou stay- 

est there 
When thou goest after it, and we 
Who remain here below for our reward, 
Miss you like thunder. 
School Marm, if there is anything we can 

do for you 
Call on us! 

Apply early and avoid the rush! 
Office hours from 8 a. m. to 5 p. m. ! 
We were a school boy once ourself, 
And can show the marks of it! 



OVER THE WAY. 

! happy man — above all kings in glory, 

Whoever in her ear may say his say, 
And add a tale of love to that one story 
Over the way ! 



LOVE THE CONQUEROR. 

Dear love and lord, I cannot choose but 

love thee, 
Where love is sacrifice and choice is free; 
And I, that am what the world calls above 

thee, 
Know well how far you stoop in loving 

me. 
I know the higher mind's severe tempta- 
tion 
Is to avoid the mere conceit of dross, 
And own the avowal of thine adoration 

Seems but aspiring to thine honor's loss. 
Yet love me, love ! Let the world go by us, 
And with mock laughter at a mock of 
love 
Say what it will, so it will not deny us 
The lifelong proof of what our love 
shall prove. 
I stoop from state; you stoop from some- 
thing grander, 
To blend appointed spirits into one; 
Be thou but open, and my answer candor 
Shall do for thee all thou wouldst leave 
undone, 
My wealth is joyless but for love of 
passion. 
Thine ends are fettered for the means 
I lend; 
Be thou then fearless in the fearless 
fashion, 
And woo the wife where thou hast 
found the friend; 
And though the world's disdain at both 

be hurled, 
Together let us overscorn the world. 



FRIEND OF THE BRAVE. 

Friend of the brave! in peril's darkest 

hour 
Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power. 



9m: 




502 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




HOW DR. JOHNSON WOOED. 

When Dr. Johnson asked the Widow 
Porter to be his wife, he told her candidly 
that he had no money, and that his uncle 
had been hanged. The widow replied 
that she cared nothing for his parentage, 
that she had no money herself, and that, 
though she had no relation hanged, she 
had fifty who deserved hanging. So they 
made a match of it. 



MARRIED THIS MORNING. 

"Married this morning!" How charm- 
ing that sounds! 
How splendid it looks in the paper! 
"The bride wore white satin" — how per- 
fectly sweet — 
" And a veil like a soft silken vapor." 
" No cards! " How exclusive that sounds! 
does it not? 
"No cake." They are well up in the 
fashion; 
And to prove to the world they are true 
millionaires, 
" No presents received " puts the dash 
on! 

" Abroad for a long wedding tour." That 
is nice! 
We maidens do envy them truly; 
We 're all in a flutter awaiting our turn — 
For we can't for our lives take it coolly. 
What letters the fair bride sends back to 
her friends! 
I 've read Arabella's and Sadie's; 
She writes — only think of it! — in the 
Old World 
They 're dining with lords and with 
ladies. 

" Returned, Colonel Blank, with his beau- 
tiful bride, 
From France." — How the journals do 
laud Iter! 

" Their elegant mansion thrown open to- 
day— 

„ Receptions will now be in order." 




True, true ! What a recherche time there 
will be ! 
Her set will be truly delighted; 
The grand double parlors will scarcely 
hold all. 
Dear, dear! Shall we girls be invited? 

*&■ z}£- ik- ili. &. 

*fz 9p i* tJs ^T* 

"But two short years married, and now 
a divorce! " 
Law sakes, dear, who would n't have 
known it? 
I thought from the first 'twas a very poor 
match, 
But somehow I never would own it! 
She's no longer the bright, shining star 
that she was, 
The social horizon adorning. 
Miranda, my love! here's the paper just 
come; 
Now tell me who's married this 



morning 



HARDLY A COAT TO HIS BACK. 

PoOr H , the comedian, once so well 

known in the Manchester and Liverpool 
theaters, having called in a doctor during 
a serious fit of illness, was interrogated as 
to his mode of living. "Did he drink 
much, and what was the fluid he indulged 
in?" was inquired. "Brandy and water 

was his weakness," H replied, "and 

he consumed generally from six to twelve 
glasses per diem, which he had done for 
many years." "Good heaven!" said the 
doctor, "I wonder you have any coat left 
to your stomach ! " "Ah, doctor," replied 
the invalid, "my friends wonder that I 
have any coat left to my back." 



AUTOGRAPH. 

The heart's a little thing, 'tis true, 
And may be light; but others weeping, 

And low on bended knees will sue: 
" Fair lady, trust it to my keeping! 

But have a care for suitors clever, 

For one regret may last — forever. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




IMPROVED "ENOCH ARDEN." 

Philip Ray and Enoch Arden 

Both were " spoons " on Annie Lee. 

Phil did not fulfill her notion — 
She preferred to be with E. 

Him she married and she bore him 

Pretty little children three; 
But becoming short of "rino" 

Enoch started off for sea, 

Leaving Mrs. Arden mistress 
Of a well-stocked village shop, 

Selling butter, soap and treacle, 
Beeswax, whipchord, lollipop. 

Ten long years she waited for him, 
But he neither came nor wrote; 

Therefore she concluded Enoch 
Could no longer be afloat. 

So when Philip came to ask her 

If she would be Mrs. Ray. 
She, believing herself widowed, 

Could not say her suitor nay. 

So a second time she married, 

Gave up selling bread and cheese — 

And in due time Philip nursed 
A little Ray upon his knees. 

But, alas! the long-lost Enoch 

Turn'd up unexpectedly, 
And was vastly disconcerted 

At this act of bigamy. 

But on thinking o'er the matter, 

He determined to atoDe 
For his lengthen'd absence from her 

By just leaving well alone. 

So he took to bed and dwindled 
Down to something like a shade; 

Settled with his good landlady, 
Then the debt of nature paid. 

And when both the Rays discovered 
How poor Enoch's life had ended. 

They came down in handsome manner 
And gave his corpse a f un'ral splendid. 




AN EDITOR OVERCOME. 

Newspaper people, says an American 
journalist, are proverbially temperate, as 
well as virtuous. We believe, however, 
one of the craft did get "slightly tight" 
a few weeks ago, and the following is a 
specimen of his broad-sheet as it appeared 
next day: "Yesterday morning, at four 
p. m., a small man, named Jones, or 
Browne, or Smith, with a heel in the 
hole of his trousers, committed arsenic by 
swallowing a dose of suicide. Verdicate 
to the jury that the diseased came to the 
facts in accordance with his death. He 
leaves a child and six small wives to 
lament his untimely loss." 



A MAIDEN WITH A MILKINC- 
PAIL. 



What change has made the pastures 

sweet, 
And reached the daisies at my feet, 

And cloud that wears a golden hem? 
This lovely world, the hills, the sward, — 
They all look fresh, as if our Lord 

But yesterday had finished them. 

And here's the field with light aglow: 
How fresh its boundary lime-trees »how! 

And how its wet leaves trembling 
shine! 
Between their trunks come through to me 
The morning sparkles of the sea, 

Below the level browsing line. 

I see the pool, more clear by half 
Than pools where other Waters laugh 

Up at the breasts of coot and rail. 
There, as she passed it on her way, 
I saw reflected yesterday 

A maiden with a milking-pail. 

There, neither slowly nor in haste, — 
One hand upon her slender waist, 

The other lifted to her pail, — 
She, rosy in the morning light, 
Among the water-daisies white, 

Like some fair sloop appeared to sail 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Against her ankles as she trod 
The lucky buttercups did nod: 

I leaned upon the gate to see. 
The sweet thing looked, but did not speak; 
A dimple came in either cheek, 

And all my heart was gone from me. 

Then, as I lingered on the gate, 
And she came up like coming fate, 

I saw my picture in her eyes, — 
Clear dancing eyes, more black than sloes! 
Cheeks like the mountain pink, that grows 

Among white-headed majesties! 

I said, U A tale was made of old 
That I would fain to thee unfold. 

Ah! let me, — let me tell the tale. 11 
But high she held her comely head: 
"I cannot heed it now," she said, 

"For carrying of the milking-pail. 11 

She laughed. What good to make ado? 
I held the gate, and she came through, 

And took her homeward path anon. 
From the clear pool her face had fled; 
It rested on my heart instead, 

Reflected when the^maid was gone. 

With happy youth and work content, 
So sweet and stately, on she went, 

Right careless of the untold tale. 
Each step she took I loved her more, 
And followed to her dairy door 

The maiden with the milking-pail. 

ii. 

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, 
How fine, how blest a thing is work! 

For work does good when reasons 
fail, — 
Good; yet the axe at every stroke 
The echo of a name awoke, — 

Her name is Mary Martindale. 

I 'm glad that echo was not heard 
Aright by other men. A bird 

Knows doubtless what his own notes 
tell; 
And I know not, — but I can say 
I felt as shamefaced all that day 

s if folks heard her name right well. 




And when the west began to glow 
I went — I could not choose but go — 

To that same dairy on the hill ; 
And while sweet Mary moved about 
Within, I came to her without, 

And leaned upon the window-sill. 

The garden border where I stood 

Was sweet with pinks and southernwood. 

I spoke, — her answer seemed to fail. 
I smelt the pinks,— I could not see. 
The dusk came down and sheltered- me, 

And in the dusk she heard my tale. 

And what is left that I should tell? 
I begged a kiss — I pleaded well: 

The rosebud lips did long decline; 
But yet, I think — I think 'tis true — 
That, leaned at last into the dew, 

One little instant the} r were mine ! 

life! how dear thou hast become! 
She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb! 

But evening counsels best prevail. 
Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads, 
Green be the pastures where she treads, 

The maiden with the milking-pail. 



LOVE. 



Love is its own great loveliness alway, 
And takes new lustre from the touch of 
time; 
Its bough owns no December, and no 
May, 
But bears its blossom into winter's 
clime. 



HAPPINESS. 



Happiness consists in the multiplicity 
of agreeable consciousness. A peasant 
has not a capacity for having equal hap- 
piness with a philosopher; they may be 
equally satisfied, but not equally happy. 
A small drinking-glass and a large one 
may be equally full, but the larger holds 
more than the smaller. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



505 C 



A DREAM OF LIFE. 

I built me a vessel long years ago, 

And I fitted it out like the galleys of 
old; 
Its sails were as white as the fresh-fallen 
snow, 
And its bows were resplendent with 
crimson and gold. 

Its bulwarks were firm, and its masts 
strong and tall, 
And a gay colored pennon on high was 
spread; 
The beauty of Youth lent a charm to it 
all, 
And an image of Hope was its proud 
figure-head. 

I launched it one morn in the spring of 
the year, 
When the breezes were low and the 
sunbeams were bright; 
And I, in the pride of my youth had no 
fear 
Of the strength of the waves, or the 
gloom of the night. 

So I dreamed of the riches my galley 

would bring 
From the lands where no bark had been 

ever before; 
But the summer passed by, and spring 

wore round to spring, 
And my vessel returned not, alas! to 

the shore. 

At length, one dark autumn, it came 
back to me; 
But its masts were all broken, its bows 
were bare; 
Its bulwarks were covered with growth of 
the sea, 
And the finger of Hope was no longer 
there; 

While it brought me for freight but the 
drift of the wave, 
The sea-foam and weeds that had lain 
in it long; 
And I mournfully sighed as I gazed on 
the grave 
Of the dreams that were bright when 
life's heart-beat was strong. 

IcP 



THE HAPPY MAN. 

A man of no regrets, he goes his happy 
way, 

Owing the past no load of debts, the 
present cannot pay; 

He wedded his first love, nor loved an- 
other since; 

He sets his nobler hopes above; he reigns 
in joy a prince. 

A man of no regrets, he hath no cares to 

vex, 
No secret griefs, nor mental nets, nor 

troubles to perplex: 
A man of no regrets, upon his empire free 
The sun of gladness never sets. — Then 

who so rich as he? 



LELY, THE PAINTER. 

Sir William Lely had agreed for the 
price of a portrait he was to draw for a 
rich London alderman, who was not in- 
debted to nature either for face or shape. 
The picture being finished, the alderman 
endeavored to beat down the price, say- 
ing that if he did not purchase it, it 
would remain on the painter's hands. 
"That's a mistake," said Sir William, 
" for I can sell it at double the price I 
demand." " How can that be? " says the 
alderman, "for it is like no one but me." 
" True," replied Sir William, " but I will 
draw a tail to it, and then it will be a 
capital monkey." The alderman at once 
paid down the money demanded and car- 
ried off the picture. 



A WIFE. 



What are all the charms of earth 
With its pride or treasures worth, 
Without a wife close by your side, 
Your joys or miseries to divide. 
'Twas Providence, with gracious plan, 
Distinctly saw and told to man, 
"He was not made to live alone," 
Therefore marriage first was known. 



ji 



5 



06 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




FAME. 

Great minds had rather deserve con- 
temporaneous applause, without obtain- 
ing it, than obtain, without deserving it; 
if it follow them, it is well, but they will 
not deviate to follow it. With inferior 
minds the reverse is observable; so that 
they can command the flattery of knaves 
while living, they care not for the 
execrations of honest men when dead. 
Milton neither aspired to present fame, 
nor even expected it; but (to use his own 
words) his high ambition was "to leave 
something so written to after ages that 
they should not willingly let it die." 
And Cato finely observed, he would much 
rathe) - that posterity should inquire why 
no statues were erected to him than why 
they were. 



WIDOW MALONE. 

Did you hear of the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 
Who lived in the town of Athlone, 

Alone ! 
0, she melted the hearts 
Of the swains in them parts: 
So lovely the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 
So lovely the Widow Mahone. 

Of lovers she had a full score, 

Or more, 
And fortunes they all had galore, 

In store; 
From the minister down 
To the clerk of the crown 
All were courting the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 
All were courting the Widow Malone. 

But so modest was Mistress Malone, 

'T was known 
That no one could see her alone, 

Ohone! 
Let them ogle and sigh, 
They could ne'er catch her eye, 
So bashful the Widow Malone, 

Ohone! 
So bashful the Widow Malone. 

if 



Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare, 

(How quare! 
It 's little for blushing they care 

Down there.) 
Put his arm round her waist, — 
Gave ten kisses at laste, — 
"0," says he, "you're my Molly Malone, 

My own! 
0," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!" 

And the widow they all thought so shy, 

My eye! 
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, — 

For why? 
But, "Lucius," says she, 
"Since you 've now made so free, 
You may marry your Mary Malone, 

Ohone! 
You may marry your Mary Malone." 

There 's a moral contained in my song, 

Not wrong, 
And one comfort, it 's not very long, 

But strong — 
If for widows you die, 
Learn to kiss, not to sigh; 
For they 're all like sweet Mistress 
Malone, 

Ahone ! 
0, they 're all like sweet Mistress Malone! 



OBSTINACY. 



A YANKEE STAKE-HOLDER. 

An individual at the races was stagger- 
ing about the track with more liquor 
than he could carry. " Hello, what 's the 
matter now?" said a friend whom the 
inebriated man had run again. "Why — 
hie — why, the fact is a lot of my friends 
have been betting liquor on the race to- 
day, and they w have got me to hold the 
stakes/' 



Some fools I know — dear reader, is it 

you? — 
Who, if once wrong, " will still the wrong 

pursue." 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




507 



FATE 

As two proud ships upon the pathless 

main 
Meet once and never hope to meet 

again, — 
Meet once with merry signallings, and 

part, 
Each homeward bound to swell the 

crowded mart, 
So we two met, one golden summer day, 
Within the shelter of life's dreaming 

bay, 
And rested, calmly anchored from the 

world, 
For one brief hour, with snowy pinions 

furled; 
But when the sun sunk low along the 

west, 
We left our harbor with its peaceful 

rest, 
And floated outward in life's tangled sea 
With foamed-kissed waves between us, 

wild and free. 
As two ships part upon the trackless 

main, 
So we parted. Shall we meet again? 



SLEEP. 



Bui wer Lytton says : " Let youth cher- 
ish sleep, the happiest of earthly boons, 
while yet it is at their command; for 
there cometh the day to all when neither 
the voice of the lute nor the bird shall 
bring back the sweet slumbers that fell 
on their young eyes as unbidden as the 
dews." 



IF WE COULD MEET. 

If we could meet, who have long been 

apart, 
I wonder what thoughts would waken in 

your heart, 
And what first words your lips might say 
If we could meet by any chance, some 

day, 
Which would be first, a sense of joy or 

pain, 

If we could meet. 



You might be cold, or careless, or 
estranged 

With scarce one swifter throb, your heart 
might beat, 

But you would find my love at least un- 
changed, 

If we could meet. 

Ah, well! the sky is cloudless over head, 
The sunlight never fell with fairer gleam, 
And flow'ry fields and woods are round 

me spread, 
But yet I know what brighter beams 

would fall, 
How every wind and flow'r would grow 

more sweet, 
What richer glory would encompass all, 
If we could meet. 



ORDER. 



Let order o'er your time preside 
And method all your business guide, 
Early begin, and end your toil, 
Nor let great tasks your hands embroil, 
One thing at once, be still begun, 
Contriv'd, resolved, pursued, and done, 
Nor till to-morrow's light delay, 
What might as well be done torday. 



HELP THE HELPLESS. 

No character is more glorious, none 
more attractive of universal admiration 
and respect, than that of helping those 
who are in no condition of helping them- 
selves. 



THEN WE SHALL BE EVEN. 

Say dear will you not have me? 
Then take the kiss you gave me; 

You elsewhere would, perhaps, bestow 

it, 
And I would be as loth to owe it; 
Or, if you will not keep the thing once 

given 
Let me kiss you and then we shall be 
even. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY PALY- 

ON THE ORGAN. 

When fam'd Cecelia on the organ played, 
And filled with moving sounds the 
tuneful frame; 
Drawn by the charm, to hear the sacred 
maid, 
From heaven, 'tis said, a listening an- 
gel came. 
Thus ancient legends would our faith 
abuse, 
In vain — for were the bold tradition 
true, 
While your harmonious touch that charm 
renews, 
Again the seraph would appear to you. 
happy fair! in whom with purest light, 
Virtue's united beams with beauty 
shine 
Should heavenly guests descend to bless 
our sight, 
What form more lovely could they 
wear than thine. 



BEFORE SAILING. 

Lean closer, darling, let thy tender heart 
Beat against mine that aches with 
heavy woe; 
Drop thy quick woman's tears to soothe 
thy smart, 
Ah me! that I could ease my sorrow 
so! 
But man must work, sweetheart, and 
women weep, 
So says the song, so runs the world's 
behest; 
Yet time will pass and tender comfort 
creep 
With hope in company into thy breast. 
Now, ere we part, while yet on lip and 
cheek 
Close kisses linger, clinging, passionate, 
There is a farewell word love fain would 
speak, 
A tender thought love labors to trans- 
late 
In earnest words, whose memory through 

the years 
Shall calm thy soul and dry thy dropping 
tears. 




If in thy garden when the roses blow, 

Or by the shelter of thine evening fire, 
In any winter gloom or summer glow, 
Thy soul floats seaward with a fond 
desire 
(Fonder and stronger than thy tender 
use). 
Think thou. " One longs for me across 
the foam;" 
And if, sweet-falling like the evening 
dews, 
A special peace enfolds that heart and 
home, 
Then say thou, dear, with softly bated 
breath, 
" In some lone wilderness beyond the 
the sea, 
Whether in light of life, or gloom of 
death, 
My lover's spirit speaks to God for 



me! 



Kiss me, beloved, without doubt or dread! 
We are not sundered, though farewell be 
said. 



HOMELY PROVERBS. 

When you strike oil stop boring; many 
a man has bored clear through and let 
the oil run out at the bottom. 

When a man measures out glory for 
himself, he always heaps the measure. 

When you come across, a man that 
neither flattery nor abuse will stimulate, 
let him alone, for he has gone to seed. 

Go slow, young man; if you tap both 
ends of your cider barrel at once, and 
draw out of the bunghole besides, your 
cider ain't a going to hold out a great 
while. 

Woman's virtue is, perhaps, a question 
of temperament. 

When a woman is no longer jealous of 
her husband, the end is come; she no 
longer loves him, in fact no one else — 
conjugal affection expires with her last 
quarrel. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




EDUCATION. 

Accustom a child, as soon as it can 
speak, to narrate his little experiences, 
his chapter of accidents, bis griefs, his 
fears, his hopes; to communicate what he 
has noticed in the world without and 
what he feels struggling in the world 
within. Anxious to have something to 
narrate, he will be induced to give atten- 
tion to objects around him and what is 
passing iu the sphere of his instruction, 
and to observe and note events will be- 
come one of his first pleasures; and this 
is the groundwork of a thoughtful char- 
acter. 



NO LONGER JEALOUS. 

I remember the time ere his temples were 

gray, 
And 1 frowned at the things he 'd the 

boldness to say; 
But now he's grown old he may say what 

he will, 
I laugh at his nonsense and take nothing 

ill. 

Indeed I must say he's a little improved, 
For he watches no longer the "slyly be- 
loved;" 
No longer, as once, he awakens my fears, 
Not a glance he perceives, not a whisper 
he hears. 

If he heard one of late it has never trans- 
pired, 

For his only delight is to have me 
admired; 

And now, pray, what better return can I 
make 

Than to flirt and be always a — for his 
sake? 



THERE IS A BLUSHING BUD. 

There is a blushing bud on the spring- 
tide bough 

That tells of coming fruit — tho' 'tis 
fruitless now. 



SADLY DISAPPOINTED. A GLOVE. 

I found and pocketed her glove that 
on the floor laid as I entered. Sweet 
relic of the one I love, on whom my 
thoughts are always centered. 

A chrysalis from which has flown her 
perfect palm, her finished fingers; an 
odor that is all its own, so faint and fine, 
about it lingers. 

Shield of a hand I wish were mine! I 
gaze upon it every minute, and hold it 
with a clasp divine, as if that little hand 
was in it. 

And then I dream that hand was there, 
and breathe my vows of loving fervor, 
the fealty of my heart I swear, and that 
I only live to serve her. 

With life 'tis almost animate, and 
every dimple in it's moulded — the dim- 
pled hand, I'm grieved to state, that 
never in my own lay folded. 

I bless the kid that lived and died that 
it might yield this pliant leather, to 
clothe the hand for which I've sighed, 
and shield it from the sun and weather. 

I take it with me as I go to call on her; 
she greets me kindly, and now this prec- 
ious glove I show her and tell her that I 
love it blindly. 

She looks upon it with surprise. I 
give the glove an endless kissing. She 
opens wide both mouth and eyes, l 'My, 
that's the glove our black girl's missing. 



THOUGHTS. 



Imagination, God-like attribute, which 

taught 
Created man to build creative thought, 
Goodness doth oft in homely bodies dwell, 
And beauty covers what deserves a hell. 
Don't end in smoke ambition's warming 

flame, 
But use right means and you '11 the end 

attain. _ 



03fi 




510 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




CHOICE OF FRIENDS. 

In all societies it is advisable to associ- 
ate, if possible, witb the highest; not 
that the highest are always the best, but 
because, if disgusted there, we can at any 
time descend; but if we begin with the 
lowest, to ascend is impossible. In the 
grand theater of human life a box ticket 
takes us through the house. 



NATURE. 



Nature permits her various gifts to fall 
On various climes, nor smiles alike on all. 



FRIEND BELOVED. 

friend beloved ! I sit apart and dumb — 
Sometimes in sorrow, oft in joy divine; 

My lip will falter, but my prisoned heart 
Springs forth to measure its faint 
pulse with thine. 

Thou art to me most like a royal guest 

Whose travels bring him to some lowly 

roof, 

Where simple rustics spread their festal 

fare, 

And, blushing, own it is not good 

enough. 

i 
Bethink thee, then, whene'er thou com'st 

to me, 

From high emprise and noble toil to 

rest, 

My thoughts are weak and trivial matched 

with thine, 

But the poor mansion offers thee its 

best. 



I LOVE YOU. 



Three words there are, the sweetest yet, 

If by the right lips spoken, 
Like pearls of price, in pure gold set, 

Of longing hearts the token. 
Young man or maid, you know them well, 

Whatever sky 's above you, 
If you but once have felt the spell 

Of those three words, "I love you." 




With these alone, since lips could speak, 

The lover is contented: 
They 've called the blush to beauty's cheek 

Since language was invented; 
The full wave of the heart's outpour, 

It seeks its kindred billow, 
Or makes on disappointment's shore 

Its sad and lonely pillow. 

" I love you!" Dear to willing ear 

As is the declaration, 
Its echo soft is yet more dear 

In sweet reciprocation; 
Though but confessed by heaving breast, 

Or timid form drawn nearer, 
Which tempts the kiss to seal the bliss, 

Or make the echo clearer. 

"I love you!" Music unsurpassed; 

The master-chord of feeling; 
As sweet to-day as in the past, 
' The richest depths revealing; 
While stands the world, while beats the 
heart 
With generous emotion, 
Still stand those thrilling words apart, 
To signalize devotion. 

i 
Then sacred be the chosen spot 

Where from the rest you glean them! 
And, oh! be sure you speak them not 

Unless you wholly mean them ! 
For man or maid, you scarce can tell, 

Whatever sky 's above you, 
What power for life or death may dwell 

In those three words, U I love you! " 



AN AMERICANISM. 

"You, Sambo, you have fed the pigs?" 
"Yes, massa, me feed 'um," replied Sam- 
bo. "Did you count them?" "Yes, 
massa, me count 'um all but one." "All 
but one?" "Yes, massa, all but one; 
dere be one little speckle pig, he frisk 
about so much me couldn't count him!" 



EMMA. 



Enchanting vision ! who can be 
Unmov'd that turns his eyes on thee? J 

am 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO THE BLEST EVANTHE. 

Let those complain that feel love's cruelty, 

And in sad legends write their woes; 
With roses gently he has corrected me, 

My war is without rage or blows: 
My mistress' eyes shine fair on my de- 
sires, 
And hope springs up, inflamed with her 
new fires. 

No more an exile will I dwell, 

With folded arms, and sighs all day, 

Reckoning the torments of my hell 
And flinging my sweet joys away: 

I am called home again to quiet peace, 

My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows 
cease. 

Yet, what is living in her eye, 

Or being blest with her sweet tongue, 
If these no other joys imply? 

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong: 
To be your own but one poor month, I 'd 

give 
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to 
live. 



ABERNETHY "FLOORED." 

The following anecdote is told of the 
celebrated surgeon, Mr. Abernethy : One 
day, during an examination of a class of 
students, he asked one of them what he 
would do in case of a man being blown 
up by gunpowder. " [ should wait till he 
came down again," was the cool reply. 



YE MUSES. 



Ye muses, pay your homage here; yet, 

beware, 
And draw the artful scene with glorious 



care; 



For foolish praise is satire on the fair. 



BEAUTY WILL NOT LAST ALWAYS. 

We know that with no owner Beauty long 

will stay; 
Upon the wings of Time she bears herself 

away. 



SACRIFICE. 

By devestation the rough warrior gains, 
And farmers fatten most when famine 

reigns; 
For sickly seasons the physicians wait, 
And politicians thrive in broils of state; 
The lover's easy when the fair one sighs, 
And gods subsist not but by sacrifice. 



A PARTING. 



Good-bye forever, my darling, 

Dear to me even now, 
Though I give you back your promise 

And release you from your vow! 

I have learned that the love I sought for 
Had been given away before, 

And I know that the love in your nature 
Is u Love for evermore." 

Yet I wish you had not answered 

In words so tender and fair, 
For I could have borne it better, 

Though it had been hard to bear. 

If you had but told me truly 

That your heart was given for aye, 

I should not have known the sorrow 
That crushes my soul to-day. 

Yet why should I weakly blame you 
For the thoughts in my bosom hid? 

'T was my own fond heart that led me 
To love you as I did. 

And now I must hide my sorrow 

As I hid my hope before, 
And put it away in the silence, 

To be spoken of no more. 

For, since I know I possess not 
The love that had been such prize, 

Shall I wait till ray idol crumbles 
To ashes before my eyes ? 

No, rather farewell forever! 

And long may the love-light shine 
On the other path you have chosen — 

It will beam no more on mine. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




REGRET. 

Oh, had I mused when I was young, 
The lessons of my father's tongue, 
The deep laborious thoughts he drew, 
From all he saw, and others knew, 
I might have been, alas! — Ah, me, 
Thrice wiser than I e'er shall be, 
For what doth say old Father Time. 
Alas! he only shows the truth, 
Of all that I was taught in youth. 



SWEET MEETING OF DESIRES. 

I grew assured before I asked, 

That she 'd be mine without reserve, 
And in her unclaimed graces basked 

At leisure, till the time should serve, — 
With just enough of dread to thrill 

The hope and make it trebly dear: 
Thus loath to speak the word, to kill 

Either the hope or happy fear. 

Till once, through lanes returning late, 

Her laughing sisters lagged behind; 
And ere we reached her father's gate, 

We paused with one presentient mind; 
And, in the dim and perfumed mist 

Their coming stayed, who, blithe and 
free, 
And very women, loved to assist 

A lover's opportunity. 

Twice rose, twice died, my trembling 
word; 

To faint and fair cathedral chimes 
Spake time in music, and we heard 

The chafers rustling in the limes. 
Her dress, that touched me where I stood; 

The warmth of her confided arm; 
Her bosom's gentle neighborhood; 
Her pleasure in her power to charm; 

Her look, her love, her form, her touch! 

The least seemed most by blissful 
turn, — 
Blissful but that it pleased too much, 

And taught the wayward soul to yearn. 
It was as if a harp with wires 

Was traversed by the breath I drew; 
And 0, sweet meeting of desires! 

She, answering, owned that she loved 
too. 



THINK OF ME. 

My love, when breaks the morning mist 
About the tender eastern sky, 

When dew wet blossoms in the wood 
Are filled with shy expectancy, 

And all the happy, tuneful birds 
Burst into songs of wildest glee, 

As your sweet eyes unclose, beloved, 
Oh, think of me! 

All nature seems to fondly speak 
With sweet significance of thee; 

The sighing breeze, the singing birds, 
The dreamy murmuring of the sea, 

Fall in a rythm of sweetest sounds, 
And softly on my listening ear 

They whisper thoughts that seem to bring 
My darling near. 

Dear heart, my love o'ershadows thee 

Invisibly as angel-wings, 
About thy path, to thee unknown, 

With tender, fond protection clings. 
Each throb of my true heart is thine, 
Each hope is twined with dreams of 
thee; 
Ah, darling, wilt thou sometimes give 
One thought to me? 

As yonder little bird, that cleaves 

The air, and wings his flight on high, 

Could sing his happy heart away 
Amid the misty, azure sky — 

So I, dear heart, could I but know 

Your pure, true love were given to me, 

Could sing my joyous heart away 
In ecstacy. 



marriage. 



Cries.Sylvia to a reverend Dean, 
" What reason can be given, 

Since marriage is a holy thing, 
That there is none in heaven." 

" There are no women," he replied. 

She quick returned the jest: — 
Women there are, but I 'm afraid, 

They cannot find a priest! " 






AKE CO MO 



33 



ir-P 



^ 






l]% 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE LOVE THAT STAYS. 

The love that quickly comes and goes 
Less comfort to the heart bestows, 
Than that with which contentment stays, 
In loving, true and steadfast ways. 

The heart that through life's fleeting 

hour 
Flits like a bird from flower to flower, 
Can never know the joy possessed 
By one that loves — and is at rest; 

Content to fold its wings and share 
In every duty, every care, 
With song enlivening the space 
Devoted to its dwelling place. 

The bonny maiden wooed and won 
By him her heart has smiled upon, 
Esteems more highly than a throne 
A heart as steadfast as her own. 

No royal gifts of house or land, 
Nor revenues that kings command, . 
Nor fame, nor honor, e'er can prove 
As precious as abiding love. 

The love that stays — that cannot be 
Swerved from its noble loyalty — 
Makes even desert places wear 
The lovely tints of gardens fair. 

So then, my heart, be thou content 
If all thy days on earth are spent 
With those like thee, averse to roam 
From the safe anchorage of home. 



A CAUTIOUS YANKEE. 

A Yankee story is told of the meeting 
of a joint-stock company at which the 
chairman proposed the customary vote of 
thanks to Heaven for the successful 
operations of the society during the past 
half-year. The motion was on the point 
of being carried by acclamation, when a 
cautious shareholder rose to move as an 
amendment, that the vote should be de- 
ferred until the amount of the last year's 
dividend had been ascertained. 




A SAILOR'S PRAYER. 

When the British ships under Lord 
Nelson were bearing down to attack the 
combined fleet off Trafalgar, the first 
lieutenant of one of the ships, on going 
round to see that all hands were at quar- 
ters, observed one of the men devoutly 
kneeling at the side of his gun. Such an 
attitude in a British sailor exciting his 
surprise and curiosity, he went and asked 
the man if he was afraid. "Afraid?" 
answered the sailor, " No ! I was only 
praying that the enemy's shot may be 
distributed in the same proportion as 
prize-money — the greatest part among 
the officers." 



A PENITENT'S PRAYER. 

You kissed me at the gate last night, 
And mother heard the smack; 

She says it 's naughty to do so, 
So please to take it back. 

I cannot see what harm there is 
In such a thing — can you? 

But mother seems so very wroth, 
Please take it back — now do. 

It seems to me quite natural 
For the lips to meet that way; 

But mother says it "s very wrong, 
So take it back, I pray. 

And, come to think of it, I 'm sure 
That several times 't was done; 

So now, to make it right, be sure 
To take back every one. 

I would not have you think it's me; 

I do not care a mite; 
But mother 's so particular, 

Please take them back to-night. 



QUITS. 



There 's never a man with his wife tries 

his wits 
But he 's ever the first in the end to cry 

quits. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE'S MEMORY. 

I am undone: there is no living, none, 
If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
That I should love a bright, particular 

star, 
And think to wed it, he is so above me; 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
The ambition in my love thus plagues 

itself: 
The hind that would be mated by the lion 
Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though 

a plague, 
To see him ev'ry hour; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his 

curls, 
In our heart's table, — heart too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor: 
But now he 's gone, and my idolatrous 

fancy 
Must sanctify his relics. 



ANOTHER WORLD. 

If there 's another world, I '11 live in bliss, 
If there is not, I '11 make the best of this. 



THE KISS AND THE SMILE. 

She stood in her beauty, pale and still — 

The roses were blowing in Jane — 
And he was angry and stubborn of will, 

Though it was yet the honeymoon. 
"I am sure," she said, "that the thing 
IS so. 

He answered, "it cannot be; 
One of us two must be wrong, you know, 

And it certainly is not me." 

"You are not infallible, my dear, 

I was watching the whole day long; 
You may say what you like, the thing is 
clear, 

You are certainly in the wrong. ■ 
I am only a woman, that I know, 

But I think I can trust my sight; 
And whether you own it is so, or no, ' 

I am certainly in the right." 






He looked at his fair young wife, and 
then 

He spoke in a kinder key: 
""Few women can know as much as men, 

And you promised to honor me; 
But if I am sure, and you are sure, 

And neither will fault admit, 
There 's only one way peace to secure, — 

Now which of us ought to submit?" 

She looked at the red rose in her hand, 

And then in her husband's face, 
And then on a little golden band, 

And a better thought grew apace. 
" The one that is kindest and wisest," she 
said, 

"The folly and pride will dismiss." 
And then she lifted her fair young head 

And gave him a smile and a kiss. 

She was the victor; she knew she had 
won 

When he folded her to his breast, 
And told her the thing that she had done 

Had made hiro of husbands most blest. 
For she that is wise must stoop to rise, 

Then love will submission requite; 
The kiss on the lips and the smile in the 
eyes 

Make any wife certainly right. 



A CUNNING IRISHMAN. 

An Irishman, in passing through the 
streets, picked up a light guinea, which 
he was obliged to sell for eighteen shil- 
lings. Next day he saw another guinea 
lying in the street. "No, no," says he, 
" I'll have nothing to do with you, I lost 
three shillings by one like you yesterday." 



UNIVERSAL LOVE. 

Fenelon was accustomed to say, " I love 
my family better than myself; my coun- 
try better than my family; and mankind 
better than my country; for I am more 
a Frenchman than a Fenelon; and more 
a man than a Frenchman." 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




TO CYNTHIA WEEPING. 

Why are those hours, which heaven in 

pity lent , 

To longing love, in fruitless sorrow spent? 
Why sighs my fair? Why does that 

bosom move 
With any passion stirr'd but rising love? 
Can discontent find place within that 

breast, 
On whose pillows ev'n despair might rest? 
Divide thy woes and give me my sad part; 
I am no stranger to an aching heart; 
Too well I know the force of inward grief, 
And well can bear it to give'you relief; 
All Love's severest pangs I can endure: 
I can bear pain though hopeless of a cure; 
I know what' 'tis to weep, and sigh, and 

pray, 
To wake all night, yet dread the breaking 

day; 
I know what 'tis to wish and hope, ye 6 

all in vain, 
And meet for humble love unkind disdain; 
Anger and hate I have been forc'd to 

bear, 
Nay, jealousy — and I have felt despair. 
These pains for you I have been forced to 

prove, 
For cruel you when I began to love, 
Till warm compassion took at length my 

part 
And melted to my wish your yielding 

heart. 
the dear hour in which you did resign! 
When round my neck your willing arms 

did twine, 
And, in a kiss, you said your heart was 

mine. 
Through each returning year may that 

hour be 
Distinguished in the rounds of all 

eternity; 
Gay be the sun that hour in all his light, 
Let him collect the day to be more bright, 
Shine all that hour and let the rest be 

night. 
And shall I all this heaven of bliss receive 
From you, yet not lament to see you 

grieve ? 
Shall I, who nourished in my breast de- 
sire 




When your cold scorn and frowns forbid 

the fire, 
Now when, a mutual flame you have 

reveal'd, 
And the dear union of our souls is seal'd, 
When all my joys complete in you I find, 
Shall I not share the sorrows of your 

mind? 
tell me, tell me all — whence does arise 
This flood of tears? Whence are these 

frequent sighs? 
Why does that lovely head, like a fair 

flower 
Oppress'd with drops of a hard-falling 

shower, 
Bend with its weight of grief, and seem 

to grow 
Downward to earth and kiss the root of 

woe? 
Lean on my breast and let me hold thee 

fast, 
Lock'd in these arms think all thy sor- 
row's past; 
Or what remain think lighter made by 

me; 
So I should think were I so held by thee. 
Murmur thy plaints and gently wound 

my ears; 
Sigh on my lip and let me drink thy tears; 
Join to my cheek thy cold and dewy face, 
And let pale grief to glowing love give 

place. 

speak — for woe in silence most appears; 
Speak, ere my fancy magnify my fears, 
Is there a cause which words cannot ex- 
press ? 

Can I not bear a part, nor make it less? 

1 know not what to think — am I in 

fault? 
I have not, to my knowledge, erred in 

thought, 
Nor wander'd from my love; nor would 

I be 
Lord of the world to live deprived of thee. 
You weep afresh, and at that word you 

start ! 
Am I to be depriv'd then ? Must we part? 
Curse on that word, so ready to be spoke, 
For through my lips, unmeant by me, it 

broke. 
Oh, no, we must not, will not, can not 

part, 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



517 



NX 



And my tongue talk, unprompted by my 

heart, 
Yet speak, for my distraction grows apace, 
And racking fears and restless doubts 

increase, 
And fears and doubts to jealousy will 

turn, 
The hottest hell in which a heart can 

burn. 



GOLD AND SILVER. 

Along her father's field they streyed 

All flecked with cowslips yellow; 
A little dainty gold-haired maid, 

A sturdy nine-year fellow. 
And there love's course they two began 

(Ah, thorny path for treading !); 
And vowed when they were maid and man 

The town should see a wedding; 
Their golden curls were blown and blent, 

Through wafts of fragrance treading; 
" And oh !" they murmured, well content, 

"'Twill be a golden wedding !" 

" 'Tis time," said he, " to claim her vow," 

And forth he went and found her; 
But she was grown a beauty now, 

And half the town was round her. 
"I see," says he, ''you don't want me !" 

Though tears were ripe for shedding. 
"I'm glad your eyes are good," says she. 

Ah, Avhere's that golden wedding? 
He flung away, and left her there, 

Such heart sore tear drops shedding, 
And gossips cried in bland despair, 

" He's spoiled the rarest wedding!" 

He sailed the seas, he beat the French, 

Two score good years he tarried, 
And then he thought, "That little wench — 

I wonder if she 's married ? " 
Next week a bluff old tar rolled past, 

The gabled High street treading, 
And ancient gossips crowed, "At last 

We 're like to have the wedding ! " 
She 'd waited for him forty years — 

The gray their locks were threading; 
And some with smiles and some with tears, 

Beheld their silver wedding. 



A YANKEE COUNSEL. 

An American newspaper has the fol- 
lowing defence, made to an action by a 
Yankee barrister: — "There are three 
points in the case, may it please your 
honor," said the counsel. " In the first 
place, we contend that the kettle in dis- 
pute was cracked when we borrowed it; 
secondly, that it was whole when we re- 
turned it; and thirdly, that we never had 
it." 



DORASTUS ON FAWNIA. 

Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair, 

Or but as mild as she is seeming so, 
Then were my hopes greater than my 
despair, 
Then all the world were Heaven, 
nothing woe. 
Ah, were her heart relenting as her 
hand, 
That seems to melt e'en with the mild- 
est touch, 
Then knew I where to seat me in a land, 
Under the wide Heavens, but yet not 
such. 
So as she shows, she seems the budding 
rose, 
Yet sweeter far than is an earthly 
flower; 
Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she 
grows; 
Compassed she is with thorns and 
cankered flower; 
Yet were she willing to be plucked and 

worn, 
She would be gathered though she grew 
on thorn. 



CONNUBIAL LOVE. 

Connubial love has dearer names, 
And finer ties, and sweeter claims, 
Than e'er unwedded hearts can feel, 
Than wedded hearts can e'er reveal; 
Pure as the charities above, 
Rise the sweet sympathies of love; 
And closer cords than those of life 
Unite the husband to the wife. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ANECDOTES. 

Together they were looking over the 
papers. "Oh my, how funny!" she said. 
" What is it? " he asked. " Why, here's 
an advertisement that says: No reason- 
able offer refused." "What's so odd 
about that?" "Nothing, nothing," she 
replied, trying to blush, "Only those are 
exactly my sentiments." 

Tommy was a little rogue whom his 
mother'had hard work to manage. Their 
house in the country was raised a few feet 
from the ground, and Tommy, to escape 
a well-deserved whipping, ran from his 
mother, and crept under the house. 
Presently his father came home, and 
hearing where the boy had taken refuge, 
crept under to briug him out. As he 
approached on his hands and knees, Tom- 
my asked, " Is she after you to." 

They had been engaged to be married 
fifteen years and still he had not mustered 
up resolution enough to ask her to name 
the happy day. One evening, he called, 
in a particularly spoony frame of mind, 
and asked her to sing him something 
tender and touching, something that 
would " move " him. She sat down by 
the piano and sang, " Darling, I am 
Growing Old." 

A young wife who lost her husband by 
death, telegraphed the sad tidings to her 
father in these succinct words. "Dear 
John died this morning at ten. Loss fully 
covered by insurance." 

A colored minister holding forth from 
the text, "How old art thou?" said in 
opening, "Brethren, this am a question 
that must be answered in the affirmative." 

Mister, said Pat, will ye be afther tell- 
ing which is the opposite side of the 
street. Why, to be sure, the side over 
there, of course. Why, said Pat, I was 
yhusht over there and a man told me that 
it was on this side. 



A crusty oldjman went into the cellar 
with a handsome mug, to draw some 
cider. He tumbled, fell heavily over a 
box, and hurt himself badly. His wife, 
more anxious for the mug than for him, 
called out: "My dear, have you broken 
the mug?" Smarting with pain, he 
yelled back: "No, but I will!" and im- 
mediately dashed it against the wall. 

An old man would not believe he could 
hear his wife, talk five miles by telephone. 
She was in a country store several miles 
away, where there was a telephone, and 
her husband was in another place where 
there was a similar instrument, and on 
being told how to operate it, he shouted: 
"Hello, Sarah!" At that instant, light- 
ning struck • the telephone wire, and 
knocked the old man down, and as he 
scrambled to his feet, excitedly cried out, 
"That's Sarah every time." 




TREACHERY. 

We have been friends together once, but 

now the time is past; 
Those halcyon days and sunny hours, 

they were too sweet to last; 
And now there 's coldness in thy glance, 

a cloud is on thy brow; 
Yet as my heart was wont to beat, so 

beats it even now. 

Although the pulse of time is changed 

and yet I know not how; 
But through gay fancy's telescope I see 

thy bright form now; 
I loved thee with a brother's love, I fondly 

clung to thee; 
As the vine clings with its tendrils round 

the tall proud' forest tree. 

So clung this poor forsaken heart, this 

lonely heart of mine; 
As if its own existence here was linked, 

dear friend, with thine; 
But wherefore need I tell the tale, the 

tale thou know'st so well; 
At most, 't will only make my breast yet 

more tumultuous swell. 

"hi 



"ti 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



510 ' 






It cannot melt thy flinty heart to feel 

one sad regret; 
As thy proud eye with keen remorse \v;is 

never moistened yet; 
But let thy path, where'er it be, o'er land 

or treacherous sea: 
May heaven forgetful of my wrongs 

watch ceaseless over thee. 

O'er the familiar form be stretch'd its 

strong protecting arm; 
To succor thee when danger threats or 

wrathful foes alarm; 
And now adieu! False fleeting friend 

may it be well with thee; 
And time and space from memory's chart 

blot out each thought of me. 




WHEN THE SULTAN GOES TO 
ISPAHAN. 

When the Sultan Shah-Zaman 
Goes to the city Ispahan, 
Even before he gets so far 
As the place where the clustered palm- 
trees are, 
At the last of the thirty palace gates, 
The pet of the harem, Rose in Bloom, 
Orders a feast in his favorite room, — 
Glittering squares of colored ice, 
Sweetened with syrups, tinctured with 

spice; 
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates, 
Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, 
Limes and citrons, and apricots; 
And wines that are known to eastern 

princes. 
And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots 
Of spiced meats, and costliest fish, 
And all that the curious palate could wish, 
Pass in and out of the cedarn doors. 
Scattered over mosaic floors 
Are anemones, myrtles and violets; 
And a musical fountain throws its jets 
Of a hundred colors into the air. 
The dark sultana loosens her hair, 
And stains with the henna plant the tips 
Of her pearly nails, and bites her lips 
Till they bloom again; but alas, that rose 
Not for the Sultan buds and blows! 
Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman 
When he goes to the city Ispahan. 



Then at a wave of her sunny hand, 
The dancing girls of Samarcand 
Float in like mists from fairy-land! 
And to the low voluptuous swoons 
Of music, rise and fall the moons 
Of their full brown bosoms. Orient blood 
Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes; 
And there in this eastern paradise, 
Filled with the fumes of sandal-wood, 
And Khoten musk, and aloes, and myrrh, 
Sits Rose in Bloom on a silken divan, 
Sipping the wines of Astrackhan; 
And her Arab lover sits with her. 

That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman 

Goes to the city Ispahan. 

Now, when I see an extra light 
Flaming, flickering on the night, 
From my neighbor's casement opposite, 
I know as well as I know to pray, 
I know as well as a tongue can say, 
That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman 
Has gone to the city Ispahan. 



THE LUTE-PLAYER. 

"Music!" they shouted, echoing my de- 
mand, 

And answered with a beckon of his hand 

The gracious host, whereat a maiden, fair 

As the last star that leaves the morning 
air, 

Came down the leafy paths. Her veil re- 
vealed 

The beauty of her face, which, half con- 
cealed 

Behind its thin blue folds, showed like 
the moon 

Behind a cloud that will forsake it soon. 

Her hair was braided darkness, but the 
glance 

Of lightning eyes shot from her counte- 
nance, 

And showed her neck, that like an ivory 
tower 

Rose o'er the twin domes of her marble 
breast. 

Were all the beauty of this age com- 
pressed 

Into one form, she would transcend its 
power. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Her step was lighter than the young 

gazelle's, 
And as she walked, her anklet's golden 

bells 
Tinkled with pleasure, but were quickly 

mute 
With jealousy, as from a case she drew 
With snowy hands the pieces of her lute, 
And took her seat before me. As it grew 
To perfect shape, her lovely arms she 

bent 
Around the neck of the sweet instrument, 
Till from her soft caresses it awoke 
To consciousness, and thus its rapture 

spoke : 
" I was a tree within an Indian vale, 
When first I heard the love-sick nightin- 
gale 
Declare his passion; every leaf was stirred 
With the melodious sorrow of the bird, 
And when he ceased, the song remained 

with me. 
Men came anon and felled the harmless 

tree, 
But from the memory of the songs I 

heard, 
The spoiler saved me from the destiny 
Whereby my brethren perished. O'er the 

sea 
I came, and from its loud tumultuous 

moan 
I caught a soft and solemn undertone; 
And when I grew beneath the maker's 

hand 

To what thou seest, he sang (the while 

he planned) 
The mirthful measures of a careless heart, 
And of my soul his songs became a part. 
Now they have laid my head upon a 

breast 
Whiter than marble, I am wholly blest. 
The fair hands smite me, and my strings 

complain 
With such melodious cries, they smite 

again, 
Until with passion and with sorrow 

swayed, 
My torment moves the bosom of the maid, 
Who hears it speak her own. I am the 

voice 
^Whereby the lovers languish or rejoice; 



And they caress me, knowing that my 

strain 
Alone can speak the language of their 

pain. 
Here ceased the fingers of the maid to 

stray 
Over the strings; the sweet song died 

away 
In mellow, drowsy murmurs, and the lute 
Leaned on her fairest bosom, and was 

mute. 
Better than wine that music was to me; 
Not the lute only felt her hands, but she 
Played on my heart-strings, till the 

sounds became 
Incarnate in the pulses of my frame. 
Speech left my tongue, and in my tears 

alone 
Found utterance. With stretched arms 

I implored 
Continuance, whereat her fingers poured 
A tenderer music, answering the tone 
Her parted lips released, the while her 

throat 
Throbbed, as a heavenly bird were flut- 
tering there, 
And gave her voice the wonder of his 

note. 
"His brow," she sang, "is white beneath 

his hair; 
The fertile beard is soft upon his chin, 
Shading the mouth that nestles warm 

within, 
As a rpse nestles in its leaves; I see 
His eyes, but cannot tell what hue they 

be, 
For the sharp eyelash, like a sabre, speaks 
The martial law of passion; in his cheeks 
The quick blood mounts, and then as 

quickly goes, 
Leaving a tint like marble when a rose 
Is held beside it; — bid him veil his eyes, 
Lest all my soul should unto mine arise. 
And he behold it!" As she sang, her 

glance 
Dwelt on my face; her beauty like a 

lance, 
Transfixed my heart. I melted into sighs, 
Slain by the arrows of her beauteous eyes. 
" Why is her bosom made" (I cried) "a 

snare? 
Why does a single ringlet of her hair 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Hold my heart captive?" "Would you 

know?" she said; 
"It is that you are mad with love, and 

chains 
Were made for madmen." Then she 

raised her head 
With answering love, that led to other 

strains, 
Until the lute, which shared with her the 

smart, 
Rocked as in storm upon her beating 

heart. 
Thus to its wires she made impassioned 

cries: 
"I swear it by the brightness of his eyes; 
I swear it by the darkness of his hair; 
By the warm blood his limbs and bosom 

wear; 
By the fresh pearls his rosy lips enclose; 
By the calm majesty of his repose; 
By smiles I coveted, and frowns I feared, 
And by the shooting myrtles of his 

beard, — 
I swear it, that from him the morning 

dew 
Its freshness, and the moon her silvery 

hue, 
The sun his brightness, and the stars 

their fire, 
And musk and camphor all their odorous 

breath : 
And if he answer not my love's desire, 
Day will be night to me, and life be 

death!" 



CONSOLATION. 

" It hain't no use to go day after day, 
A slumpin 1 'round and mopin 1 that away; 
I own you 've got good cause fer feelin' 

blue, 
An' wearin' black, an' cryin' sometimes, 

too, 
But long a nuff's anuff, that's wat I say. 

" Wy, wat 's the use? I'm sure you 've 

mourned ez long 
Ez other widdersdo; an' now it 's wrong, 
You 'd orto chase yer gloomy looks away, 
An' jine with other folks in bein' gay. 
You 'd soon fergit an' chirk up young an' 

strong. 




" A many a man hez died ez good ez he 
An 1 left young widders good ez you er me; 
An' they've tuk on, an' cried their spell, 

an' then 
Resumed their smiles an' married other 

men — 
You hain't no better 'n other wimmin be. 

" There, now ! you 're cryin' wuss, an' 

askin' wy 
I talk that way; an' if my man should die: 
0' course — thet 's — diffe'nt; wj — if — 

he ■ — should — go — " 
A passing robin stopped and whistled low 
To see two women at the window cry ! 



SWEETHEART, FAREWELL. 

Beneath the whispering trees we lingered 

late. 
Hand clasped in hand, my dearest love 

and I, 
And he spake words I never can forget, 
Of tender trust and love until I die; 
And with his eyes what lips would fail to 

tell, 
He spoke what time he said, " Sweetheart, 

farewell." 

With sweet caress he clasped me to his 

breast, 
And looked upon me as with angel's 

eyes, 
And kissed my brow, and kissed my lips, 

and kissed 
The tears away that now began to rise; 
And ever the same tale of love would 

tell, 
What time he sadly spoke : " Sweetheart, 

farewell." 

And as he went away, and I am weary 
Of nature's smiles — my heart is full 

of strife — 
The long, long days, without him are so 

dreary, 
And all the bright has faded out of 

life. 
"Come back, my love, the old sweet tale 

to tell, 
But never more say: "Sweetheart, fare- 

well." A 



■b 



522 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




SKATING AND COURTING. 

'T was moonlight, and the world was 
white; 

We were a merry party; 
We skimmed the glassy field that night, 

Young blood and spirits hearty: 
We scored the ice in fancy whirl, 

Each did his share of prating — 
Warm-hearted boys and bonny girls — 

The night we went a-skating. 

Rosa was there, and that was why 

My heart was like a feather; 
I crossed her oft, but she slid shy, 

We could not come together. 
Fortune at last was kind and free, — 

I had for months been waiting 
For just that chance which came to me, 

The night we went a-skating. 

I could not tell you all the game, 

For love had made me stupid, 
But plump into my arms she came, 

A living, breathing, Cupid. 
She did not fall, she did not scream, 

She did not start berating, 
We simply both slid with the stream 

That night we went a-skating. 

Since that we've gone through life as 
one, 

In every kind of weather — 
In storm, or calm, in rain or sun, 

Still keeping pace together. 
And though there 's winter on our brows, 

Love's power is still elating — 
We '11 never forget the hurried vows 

That night we went a-skating. 



WORTH THEM ALL. 

Go, wing thy flight from star to star, 
From world to luminous world, as far 
As the universe spreads its flaming wall; 
Take all the pleasures of all the 

spheres, 
And multiply each through endless 
years, 
One minute of heaven is worth them all. 



SONNET TO MY MOTHER. 

And canst thou Mother, for a moment 
think 
That we, thy children, when old age 

shall shed 
Its blanching honors on thy weary 
head, 
Could from our best of duties ever 

shrink? 
Sooner the sun from his high sphere 
should sink 
Than we ungrateful, leave thee in that 

day, 
To pine in solitude thy life away, 
Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's 
cold brink. 

Banish the thought! — where'er our steps 

may roam, 
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without 

a tree, 
Still will fond memory point our hearts 

to thee, 
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful 

home; 
While duty bids us all thy griefs 

assuage, 
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking 

age. 



rP 



MEET ME BY MOONLIGHT. 

Meet me by moonlight alone, 

And then I will tell you a tale; 
Must be told by the moonlight alone, 

In the grove at the end of the vale. 
You must promise to come, for I said 

I would show the night-flowers their 
queen, 
Nay, turn not away thy sweet head, 

'T is the loveliest ever was seen. 

Daylight may do for the gay, 

The thoughtless, the heartless, the free, 
But there 's something about the moon's 
ray, 

That is sweeter to you and to me. 
Oh! remember be sure to be there, 

For though dearly a moonlight I prize 
I care not for all in the air, 

If I want the sweet light of your 







Q 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



523 



3 



SHARP. 

A witling of the dashing kind 
Asked Hodge if he had seen the wind. 
" Yes, that I have," quoth Hodge, "I vow, 
I saw a mighty wind just now." 

"You saw it, Hodge? It cannot be," 

Replied the man of repartee, 

"Pray, what was 't like?" "Like!" 

quoth the clown, 
"'T was like to have blown my cottage 

down ! " 



KATYDID. 



I love to hear thine earnest voice, 

Wherever thou art hid, 
Thou testy little dogmatist, 

Thou pretty Katydid ! 
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks, — 

Old gentlefolks are they, — 
Thou say 'st an undisputed thing 

In such a solemn way. 

Thou art a female, Katydid ! 

I know it by the trill 
That quivers through thy piercing notes, 

So petulant and shrill. 
I think there is a knot of you 

Beneath the hollow tree, — 
A knot of spinster Katydids, — 

Do Katydids drink tea? 

0, tell me where did Katy live, 

And what did Katy do? 
And was she very fair and young, 

And yet so wicked too? 
Did Katy love a naughty man, 

Or kiss more cheeks than one? 
I warrant Katy did no more 

Than many a Kate has done. 



MARRIAGE. 



For wedlock without love, some say, 

Is but a lock without a key; 
It is but a rape to marry 
One that neglects or cares not for ye; 
For what does make it ravishment, 
But being against the mind's consent. 

sk - 



MATRIMONY. 

If solid happiness we prize 
Within our breast the jewel lies, 

And they are fools who roam. 
The world has nothing to bestow, 
From our own selves our joys must] flow, 

And that dear hut our home. 



Though 



fools 



spurn Hymen's 
powers, 
We who improve his precious hours, 

By sweet experience know, 
That marriage, rightly understood, 
Gives to the tender and the good, 
A Paradise below. 



gentle 



THE MOSS ROSE. 

The angel of the flowers, one day, 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay, — 
That spirit to whose charge 't is given 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. 
Awaking from his light repose, 
The angel whispered to the rose : 
"0 fondest object of my care, 
Still fairest found, where all are fair; 
For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me 
Ask what thou wilt, 't is granted thee." 
" Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, 
" On me another grace bestow." 
The spirit paused, in silent thought, — 
What grace was there that flower had not? 
'T was but a moment, — o'er the rose 
A veil of moss the angel throws, 
And, robed in nature's simplest weed, 
Could there a flower that rose exceed? 



THE MAID WHO BINDS HER 
WARRIOR'S SASH. 

The maid who binds her warrior's sash 

With smile that well her pain dissem- 
bles, 
The while beneath her drooping lash 

One starry tear-drop hangs and trem- 
bles; 
Though Heaven above records the tear, 

And Fame shall never know her story, 
Her heart has shed a drop as dear 

As ere bedewed the field of glory! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






FATHER'S TRACKS. 

"I trod in my father's steps," said Jack, 
" Wherever he went I kept his track." 

" If he tread in ray steps, then day by day, 
How carefully I must choose my way. 

" For the child will do as the father does, 
And the track that I leave behind, 

If it be firm, and clear, and straight, 
The feet of my son will find. 

"He will tread in his father's steps and 

say: 
'I am right, for this was my father's 

way.' " 



GO YOUTH BELOVED. 

Go youth beloved, in distant glades 

New friends, new hopes, new joys to 
find, 
Yet sometimes deign, 'midst fairer maids, 

To think on her thou leav'st behind. 
Thy love, thy fate, dear youth, to share, 

Must never be my happy lot, 
But thou mayst grant this humble 
prayer, 

Forget me not, forget me not! 

Yet should the thought of my distress 

Too painful to thy feelings be, 
Heed not the wish I now express, 

Nor ever deign to think on me; 
But, oh, if grief thy steps attend, 

If want, or sickness be thy lot, 
And thou require a soothing friend; 

Forget me not, forget me not! 



MY WIFE. 



She is mine own; 

And I as rich in having such a jewel, 

As twenty seas, if all their sands were 

pearl, 
The water nectar, and the rocks pure 

gold. 




OLD. 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone, 
Sat a hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; 

Oft I marked him sitting there alone, 
All the landscape, like a page, perusing; 
Poor unknown, 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone. 

Buckled knee and shoe, and broad- 
brimmed hat; 
Coat as ancient as the form 't was fold- 
ing; 
Silvered buttons, queue and crimped cra- 
vat; 
Oaken staff his feeble hand upholding; 
There he sat! 
Buckled knee and shoe, and broad- 
brimmed hat. 

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there, 
No one sympathizing, no one heeding, 

None to love him for his thin gray hair, 
And the furrows all so mutely pleading 
Age and care: 

Seemed it pitiful he should sit there. 

It was summer, and we went to school, 
Dapper country lads and little maid- 
ens; 
Taught the motto of the "Dunce's 
Stool,"— 
Its grave import still my fancy la- 
dens, — 

"Here's a fool!" 
It was summer, and we went to school. 

When the stranger seemed to mark our 
play, 
Some of us were joyous, some sad- 
hearted; 
I remember well, too well, that day! 
Oftentimes the tears, unbidden started, 
Would not stay 
When the stranger seemed to mark our 
play. 

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell, 
0, to me her name was always Heaven! 

She besought him all his grief to tell, 
(I was then thirteen, and she eleven), 
Isabel! 

One sweet spirit broke the silent spell. < 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



525* 



"Angel," said he, sadly, "I am old; 

Earthly hope no longer hath a mor- 
row; 
Yet, why I sit here thou shalt he told." 
Then his eye betrayed a pearl of sor- 
row, 

Down it rolled! 
"Angel," said he, sadly, "I am old. 

"I have tottered hpre to look once more 
On the pleasant scene where I de- 
lighted 
In the careless, happy days of yore, 
Ere the garden of my heart was 
blighted 

To the core: 
I have tottered here to look once more. 

"All the picture now to me how dear! 
E'en this gray old rock where I am 
seated, 
Is a jewel worth my journey here; 

Ah, that such a scene must be com- 
pleted 

With a tear! 
All the picture now to me how dear! 

"Old stone school-house! — it is still the 
same; 
There 's the very step I so oft mounted; 
There 's the window creaking in its 
frame, 
And the notches that I cut and counted 
For the game. 
Old stone school-house, it is. still the 
same. 

"In the cottage yonder I was born; 
Long my happy home, that humble 
dwelling; 
There the fields of clover, wheat and 
corn; 
There the spring, with limpid nectar 
swelling: 

Ah, forlorn! 
In the cottage yonder I was born. 

"Those two gateway sycamores you see, 
Then were planted just so far asunder 

That long well-pole from the path to free, 
And the wagon to pass safely under; 
Ninety-three! 

Those two gateway sycamores you see. 




"There's the orchard where we used to 
climb 
When my mates and I were boys to- 
gether, 
Thinking nothing of the flight of time, 
Fearing naught but work and rainy 
weather; 

Past its prime! 
There 's the orchard where we used to 
climb. 

" There the rude, three-cornered chestnut- 
rails, 
Round the pasture where the flocks 
were grazing, 
Where, so sly, I used to watch for quails 
In the crops of buckwheat we were 
raising; 

Traps and trails! 
There the rude, three-cornered chestnut- 
rails. 

"There 's the mill that ground our yellow 
grain ; 
Pond and river still serenely flowing; 
Cot there nestling in the shaded lane, 
Where the lily of my heart was blow- 
ing; 

Mary Jane! 
There 's the mill that ground our yellow 
grain. 

"There's the gate on which I used to 
swing, 
Brook, and bridge, and barn, and old 
red stable; 
But, alas! no more the morn shall bring 
That dear group around my father's 
table; 

Taken wing! 
There 's the gate on which I used to 
swing. 

"I am fleeing — all I loved have fled. 
Yon green meadow was our place for 
playing; 
That old tree can tell of sweet things 
said 
When around it Jane and I were stray- 
ing; 

She is dead! 
I am fleeing — all I loved have fled 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




"Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky, 

Tracing silently life's changeful story, 
So familiar to my dim old eye, 

Points me to seven that are now in 
glory 

There on high ! 
Yon white spire, a pencil on the sky. 

"Oft the aisle of that old church we trod, 
Guided thither by an angel mother; 

Now she sleeps beneath its sacred sod; 
Sire and sisters, and my little brother, 
Gone to God! 

Oft the aisle of that old church we trod. 

"There I heard of wisdom's pleasant 
ways ; 
Bless the holy lesson! — but, ah, never 
Shall I hear again those songs of praise, 
Those sweet voices silent now forever! 
Peaceful days! 
There I heard of wisdom's pleasant ways. 

" There my Mary blest me with her hand 
When our souls drank in the nuptial 
blessing, 
Ere she hastened to the spirit-land, 
Yonder turf her gentle bosom pressing; 
Broken band! 
There my Mary blest me with her hand. 

" I have come to see that grave once more, 
And the sacred place where we de- 
lighted, 
Where we worshiped, in the days of yore, 
Ere the garden of my heart was blighted 
To the core! 
I have come to see that grave once more. 

"Angel," said he, sadly, "I am old; 
Earthly hope no longer hath a mor- 
row; 
Now, why I sit here thou hast been told." 
In his eye another pearl of sorrow, 
Down it rolled! 
"Angel," said he, sadly, " I am old." 

By the wayside, on a mossy stone, 
Sat the hoary pilgrim, sadly musing; 

Still I marked him sitting there alone, 
All the landscape, like a page, perusing; 
Poor unknown! 

Bv the wayside, on a mossy stone. 




VALUE. 

Would the diamond seem such a perfect 
gem 
If it measured one foot round? 
Would the rose-leaf yield such a sweet 
perfume 
If it covered yards of ground? 
Would the dewdrops seem so clear and 
pure 
If dew like rain should fall? 
Would the love for woman be half so 
sweet, 
If she never loved at all? 



THE YANKEE. 

There never lived a Yankee yet, 
But was always ready to make a bet; 
Just show him a room where a queen has 

slept 
'T aint equal to the tavern his daddy kept. 



WHY THUS LONGING ? 

Why thus longing, thus forever sighing, 
For the far-off, unattained and dim, 

While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offers up its low, perpetual hymn? 

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, 
All thy restless yearnings it would still; 
Leaf and flower and laden bee are preach- 
ing 
Thine own sphere, though humble, 
first to fill. 



Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee 

Thou no ray of light and joy canst 

throw, 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 

To some little world through weal and 

woe; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can 
brighten, — 

No fo.nd voices answer to thine own; 
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten, 

By daily sympathy and gentle tone 





A HOOK OF POEMS 




BLIGHTED LOVE. 

Flowers are fresh, and bushes green, 

Cheerily the linnets sing; 
Winds are soft, and skies serene; 

Time, however, soon shall throw 
Winter's snow 
O'er the buxom breast of Spring. 

Hope, that buds in lover's heart, 

Lives not through the scorn of years; 

Time makes love itself depart; 

Time and scorn congeal the mind, — 
Looks unkind 

Freeze affection's warmest tears. 

Time shall make the bushes green; 

Time dissolve the winter snow; 
Winds be soft, and skies serene; 

Linnets sing their wonted strain. 
But again 
Blighted love shall never blow. 



THE MARCH TO MOSCOW. 

The Emperor Nap he would set out 
For a summer excursion to Moscow; 

The fields were green and the sky was blue ; 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow! 

Four hundred thousand men and more, 

Heigh-ho, for Moscow! 
There were marshals by dozens and dukes 
by the score, 
Princes a few, and kings one or two, 
While the fields are so green and the sky 
so blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow! 

There was Junot and Augereau, 

Heigh-ho, for Moscow! 
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky, 
General Rapp and Emperor Nap, 

Nothing would do, 
While the fields were so green and the 
sky so blue, 

Morbleu! Parbleu! 

they must be marched to Moscow. 




But the Russians they stoutly turned to, 

All on the road to Moscow, 
Nap had to fight his way all through, 
They could fight, but they could not par- 

ley-vous, 
But the fields were green, and the sky 
was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
And so he got to Moscow. 



They made the place too hot for him, 

For they set fire to Moscow; 
To get there had cost him much ado, 
And then no better course he knew, 
While the fields were green and the sky 
was blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
Than to march back again from Moscow. 



The Russians they stuck close to him, 

All on the road from Moscow; 
There was Tormazow and Gomalow, 
And all the others that end in ow ; 
Rajefsky and Noverefsky, 
And all the others that end in e/sky ; 
Schamscheff, Soitchosaneff, and Schepeleff, 

And all the others that end in eff ; 
Wasiltschecoff, Kostomaroff, and Theog- 
lokoff, 
And all the others that end in off; 
Milaravoditch, and Juladovitch, and 
Karatchkowitch, 
And all the others that end in itch ; 
Oscharoffsky, and Rostoffsky, Kasatich- 
koffsky, 
And all the others that end in off sky ; 
And PlatofE he played them off, 
And Markoff he marked them off, 
And Tutchkoff he touched them off, 
And Kutusoff he cut them off, 
And Woronzoff he worried them off, 
And Dochtoroff he doctored them off, 
And Rodinoff he flogged them off; 
And last of all an Admiral came, 
A terrible man, with a terrible name, 
A name which you all must know very 

well, 
Nobody can speak, and nobody can 
spell. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




They stuck close to Nap with all their 

might, 
They were on the left and on the right, 
Behind and before, and by day and by 

night; 
Nap would rather parley-vous than fight; 
But parley-vous would no more do, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
For they remembered Moscow! 

And then came on the frost and snow, 

All on the road from Moscow! 
The Emperor Nap found, as he went, 
That he was not quite omnipotent; 
And worse and worse the weather grew, 
The fields were so white and the sky so 
blue, 
Morbleu! Ventrebleu! 
What a terrible journey from Moscow! 

The devil take the hindmost, 

All on the road from Moscow! 
Quoth Nap, who thought it small delight, 
To fight all day and to freeze all night; 
And so, not knowing what else to do, 
When the fields were so white and the 
sky so blue, 
Morbleu! Parbleu! 
He stole away, I tell you true, 
All by himself from Moscow. 



THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD! 

the pleasant days of old, which so often 

people praise! 
True, they wanted all the luxuries that 

grace our modern days: 
Bare floors were strewed with rushes, the 

walls let in the cold; 
0, how they must have shivered in those 

pleasant days of old! 

those ancient lords of old, how mag- 
nificent they were! 

They threw down and imprisoned kings, 
to thwart them who might dare? 

They ruled their serfs right sternly; they 
took from Jews their gold, — 

Above both law and equity were those 
great lords of old! 




the gallant knights of old, for their 

valor so renowned ! 
With sword and lance and armor strong 

they scoured the country round; 
And whenever aught to tempt them they 

met by wood or wold, 
By right of sword they seized the prize, — 

those gallant knights of old! 

the gentle dames of old! who, quite 

free from fear or pain, 
Could gaze on joust or tournament, and 

see their champions slain; 
They lived on good beefsteaks and ale, 

which made them strong and 

bold, — 
0, more like men than women were those 

gentle dames of old! 

those mighty towers of old! with their 

turrets, moat and keep, 
Their battlements and bastions, their 

dungeons dark and deep. 
Full many a baron held his court within 

the castle hold; 
And many a captive languished there, in 

those strong towers of old. 

the troubadours of old! with the gentle 

miustrelsie 
Of hope and joy, or deep despair, which- 

e'er their lot might be; 
For years they served their ladye-love ere 

they their passions told, — 
0, wondrous patience must have had 

those troubadours of old! 

those blessed times of old, with their 

chivalry and state ! 

1 love to read their chronicles, which such 

brave deeds relate; 
I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to 

hear their legends told, — 
But, heaven be thanked! I live not in 

those blessed times of old! 



MARRIAGE. 



The instances that second marriage move 

Are base respects of thrift, but none of 

love. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE ME GIRLS. 

Love me, swear to love me 

(As you know they do) 
By yon heaven above me 

And its changeless blue. 
Love me, ladies dearly, 

If you'll be so good; 
Though I don't see clearly 

On what ground you should. 



OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HIM. 

Oh, no! we never mention him, his name 

is never heard; 
My lips are now forbid to speak that once 

familiar word; 
From sport to sport they hurry me, to 

banish my regret; 
And when they win a smile from me, 

they think that I forget. 

They bid me seek in change of scene the 
the charms that others see; 

But were I in a foreign land, they'd find 
no change in me. 

'Tis true that I behold no more the val- 
ley where we met, 

I do not see the hawthorn tree; but how 
can I forget. 

For oh! there are so many things recall 
the past to me, — 

The breeze upon the sunny hills, the bil- 
lows on the sea; 

The very tint that decks the sky before 
the sun is set; — 

Ay, every leaf I look upon forbids me to 
forget. 

They tell me he is happy now, the gayest 

of the gay; 
They hint that he forgets me too, — I 

heed not what they say: 
Perhaps like me he struggles with each 

feeling of regret; 
But if he loves as I have loved, he never 

can forget. 
-0 34 



i>5- 



VIOLETS. 

I do love violets! 
They tell the history of woman's love; 
They open with the earliest breath of 

spring; 
Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew and 

light, 
And if they perish, perish with a sigh 
Delicious as that life. * On hot June 
They shed no perfume; the flowers may 

remain, 
But the rich breathing of their leaves is 

past. — 
The violet breath of love is purity. 



SMILES. 



I think there is not a pleasanter thing 

Comes into my daily life, 
Than the answering smile my smile will 
bring 

On the lips of my own dear wife. 
At the morning meal, on the evening 
hearth, 

It brightens my household place; 
No matter how rainy the day may be, 

There is sunshine in her face. 

But the sweetest and dearest smile of all 

Is the one that every night 
Makes the beautiful face I love so well 

With welcome and love alight. 
When I turn the corner it beams on me, 

And every trouble is o'er: 
And then I could do — well — what could 

I not do 
For the wife that is waiting with love so 
true 

And a smile at the open door? 



LONGING. 



Many a summer the grass has grown 

green, 
Blossomed and faded our faces between; 
Yet with strong yearning and passionate 

pain, 
Long I to-night for your presence agaii 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




AN EPITAPH. 

Thus day by day, and month by month, 

we past; 
It pleased the Lord to take my spouse at 

last; 
Before my face my handkerchief I spread, 
To hide the flood of tears I did — not shed. 



WEALTH. 



To purchase heaven, has gold the power? 
Can gold remove the mortal hour? 
In life, can love be bought with gold? 
Are friendship's pleasures to be sold? 
No — all that 's worth a wish — a thought, 
Fair virtue gives, unbribed, unbought. 
Cease, then, on trash thy hopes to bind, 
Let nobler views engage thy mind. 



HER GIFT. 



With crystal feet and laughter low, 

Like ripple of the summer rills, 
The silver spirit of the rain 

Comes down between the evening hills. 
We heard it patter on the leaves; 

It seemed to murmur to my ears 
A mournful melody of love, 

That ended in a burst of tears. 

A manly form was at my side — 

Such men the ancient poets sing — 
So brave and tall ! Ah, well they knew — 

Who named him for the blameless 
king. 
The blood of heroes flush'd his brow; 

His words were courtly, kind, and wise, 
What wonder that I felt the spell 

That lurked in dark and dreaming eyes. 

I wore a bud of glowing hue, 

Rich-tinted like the crimson west. 
He asked the favor of the flower; 

I fastened it upon his breast. 
His head was bent above my own; 

Our glances met, and — breathe it 
low — 
I gave together with the rose, 

My heart; but he must never know! 

mP 



His home is far across the seas, 

' Tis haunted by an hundred earls, 
And pictured ladies from its walls 

Look down in pride of silk and pearls. 
There soon, beside a fairer maid, 

With lips that laugh and eyes that 
shine, 
He will forget these golden hours, 

The rose's glowing heart and mine. 

But ever still when falls the rain, 

And ever at the twilight tide, 
I '11 turn my head and think to see 

His dark eyes beaming at my side. 
And if the way he walks is bright, 

Or if a shadowed path he goes, 
Yet one fond heart will follow him — . 

The heart of her who gave the rose! 



INFIDELITY. 



Oh! colder than the wind that freezes 
Founts that but now in sunshine 
play'd, 

Is that congealing pang which seizes 
The trusting bosom when betray'd. 



HOSPITALITY. 

Blest be that spot where cheerful guests 
retire, 

To pause from toil, and trim their even- 
ing fire; 

Blest that abode where want and pain 
repair, 

And every stranger finds a ready chair; 

Blest be those feasts with simple plenty 
crown'd, 

Where all the ruddy family around, 

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never 
fail, 

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 

And learn the luxury of doing good. 



CHARITY. 



The drying up a single tear has more 
Of honest fame than shedding seas of 

gore. J 

Sag 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




LIFE. 

Ambition' was my idol, which was broken 
Before the shrines of sorrow and of 
pleasure; 
And the two last have left me many a 
token 
O'er which reflection may be made at 
leisure. 



AWKWARDNESS. 

What 's a fine person or a beauteous face, 
Unless deportment gives them decent 
grace. 



VERSES IN PRAISE OF ANGLING. 

Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares, 
Anxious sighs, untimely tears, 

Fly, fly to courts, 

Fly to fond worldlings 1 sports, 
Where strained, sardonic smiles are glos- 

ing still, 
And grief is forced to laugh against her 
will, 

Where mirth's but mummery, 

And sorrows only real be. 

Fly from our country pastimes, fly, 
Sad troops of human misery, 

Come, serene looks, 

Clear as the crystal brooks, 
Or the pure, azured heaven that smiles to 

see 
The rich attendance on our poverty; 

Peace and a secure mind, 

Which all men seek, we only find. 

Abused mortals! did you know 

Where joy, heart's ease and comfort grow, 
You 'd scorn proud towers 
And seek them in these bowers, 

Where winds, sometimes, our woods per- 
haps may shake, 

But blustering care could never tempest 
make; 
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
Saving of fountains that glide by us. 



Here 's no fantastic mask nor dance, 
But of our kids that frisk and prance; 
Nor wars are seen, 
Unless upon the green 
Two harmless lambs are butting one the 

other, 
Which done, both bleating run, each to 
his mother; 
And wounds are never found, 
Save what the plow-share gives the 
ground. 

Here are no entrapping baits 
To hasten to, too hasty fates; 

Unless it be 

The fond credulity 
Of silly fish, which (worldling like) still 

look 
Upon the bait, but never on the hook; 

Nor envy, 'less arriong 

The birds, for price of their sweet song. 

Go, let the diving negro seek 

For gems hid in some forlorn creek; 

We all pearls scorn 

Save what the dewy morn 
Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 
Which careless shepherds beat down as 
they pass; 

And gold ne'er here appears, 

Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 

Blest sileut groves, 0, may you be, 
Forever, mirth's best nursery! 

May pure contents 

Forever pitch their tents 
Upon these downs, these meads, these 

rocks, these mountains! 
And peace still slumber by these purling 
fountains, 

Which we may every year 

Meet, when we come a-fishing here. 



ESTRANGED HEARTS. 

Kind hearts that have been long estrang- 
ed, and friends that have grown cold. 
Should meet again — like parted streams 
— and mingle as of old. 



5t 



-P 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




OH MY! 

A man may hug, and a man may kiss, 
And fool with the girls all day, 

But he can't have a kid, no man ever 
did; 
Because he aint built that way 



WHISPERING. 

Low whispering by us with a silent kiss 
Comes the sweet south wind o'er the 
slumbering sea: 
Thou dearest! can such a perfect joy as 
this 
Be always mine, to drift through life 
with thee? 



A VAIN RESOLUTION. 

In fair Elfrida's chains I once was bound; 

She proudly with my faithful homage 

bore, 

Then scorned my vows: — but time has 

closed the wound, 

And now, Love, I swear to love no 



more 



Love in these latter days is lost in art, 
And with the frost of falsehood it is 
hoar; 
It has no charms to fascinate the heart, 
Its better reign is done: — I'll love no 
more! 

"Say, " asked the little god, "what fears 
affright thee? 
All thy fair fortunes I will soon restore; 
The faces, three in one, shall now delight 
thee" — 
No matter Love, I wish to love no 
more! 

Delina, then he set before my eyes, — 
One like the fair ideals known of yore; 

A star she seemed, just fallen from the 
skies : — 
But still I swore that I would love no 




more 



At her fair side the rose would lose its 
smile, 
And pale would burn the beacon on the 
shore; 
Full many a heart her charms may well 
beguile, 
But never mine: — fori will love no 
more ! 

She walks — and, springing up to kiss her 
feet, 
The flowerets seem to me from earth to 
soar; 
She sings, with voice most musically 
sweet: — 
Still, still I swear that I will love no 



more 



Many the lovers who their homage bring; 

Her conquests I would surely not de- 
plore, — 
Nay, her fair praises I would gladly sing; 

I give my verse, — but I will love no 



more 



" Join her gay train," the blind boy 
softly cried, 
"Nor weakly fear her beauty to adore; 
If in its light thy heart is truly tried, 
Thou canst renew thy vow to love no 
more." 

Strange as it seems, I heeded not the 
wile 
By which I had been led away before, 
Nor even marked Love's bright bewil- 
dered smile, 
As once again I swore to love no more; 

In my lost heart there rises every hour 
A purer flame than that which burned 
of yore; 
Delina, thou hast taught in all Love's 
power: 
To see thee, is to love thee evermore! 



SUCH IS LIFE. 

For time will come with all its blights, 
The ruined hope — the friend unkind — 

The love that leaves where'er it lights 
A chill'd or burning heart behind! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




WOMEN. 

But blame us women not, if some appear 
Too cold at times; and some too gay 
and light. 
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are 
hard to bear. 
Who knows the past? and who can 
judge us right? 

Whom first we love you know we seldom 
wed. 
Time rules us all. And life, indeed, is 
not 
The thing we planned it out ere hope was 
dead. 
And then we women cannot choose our 
lot. 



. HOW TO MAKE A POEM. 

"Pray, tell me truly," I. said to a sage, 
The mother of mysteries rare, 

Who had read many poems of every age, 
No matter by whom writ or where: 

"Pray, tell me truly, how poems are 
made." 
(I knew that full many a time 
The sage in the grove of the Muses had 
strayed, 
And had clothed his bright fancies in 
rhyme). 

" Let your genius, my son," he replied, 
"have its way, 

In spite, in defiance of sense: 
But govern right well its syntaxical play 

On number, and gender, and tense. 

" For, know you, at times the afflatus 
divine 
Needs a 'lift' in a sensible way, 
Just as many a brand of most delicate 
wine 
Needs a raisin to give it bouquet. 

" Yet, though sense and eke reason are oft 
in demand 
To help the rhymed syllables out, 
That rhyme is the rudder of verse, under- 
stand, 
There is not a scintilla of doubt. 



" So now, if you 'd count on the Muse as 
your friend, 
And would never in poetry fail, 
Guide the sense of your lines by the 
rhymes at the end, 
Just as butchers steer calves by the 
tail. 

" Its the jingle that pleases the average 
ear — 
The music of rhythm and rhyme; 
Keep this well in mind, and, my son, 
never fear 
But you'll rank as a poet in time." 




RUM'S TIDAL WAVE. 

Rum's tide-wave of death flows over our 
land, 
Aye, worse than death's tide it sweeps 
over the soul, 
And all that is fair and noble and grand, 
Forever is hid where the black waters 
roll. 

On its bosom it bears all that 's lovely in 
youth, 
It blots from their life every beautiful 
thought, 
And it sweeps every vestige of honor and 
truth 
From the poor, helpless soul its dark 
current hath caught. 

Oh, the wrecks that are strewn where its 
waters have swept! 
Oh, the hopes that lie whelmed 'neath 
its terrible tide! 
Oh, the tears that the eyes of the mourn- 
ers have wept, 
As down its swift stream their beloved 
ones glide! 

Who can measure the depths of this ter- 
rible wave? 
Who can tell of the souls it hath borne 
to their death? 
When no loving hand was extended to 
save, 
No loving one near to receive their 
last breath! 




534 



A BOOK OP POEMS 




Oh, this beautiful land is shadowed with 
woe, 
And all its bright future seems mantled 
in gloom! 
The taint of rum's poison, wherever we 
go, 
Destroys its sweet flowers and withers 
their bloom. 

Shall its .death-chilling waters continue 
to lave 
The evergreen shores of our God-given 
land? 
Shall tbe blessings that He so lavishly 
gave 
Be wrenched from our grasp by the 
rum-seller's hand? 

Forbid it, high Heaven, and show us the 
way, 
That its shadows no longer enfold us 
in gloom. 
God's power we invoke, and ever we '11 
pray 
To escape from this curse and its ter- 
rible doom. 



ABOUT HUSBANDS. 

[" A man is, in general, better pleased when lie has a 
good dinner upon his table than when his wife speaks 
Greek."— Br, Johnson.'] 

Johnson was right. I do n't agree to all 
The solemn dogmas of the rough old 
stager; 

But very much approve what one may call 
The minor morals of the " Ursa Major." 

Johnson was right. Although some men 
adore 
Wisdom in women, and with learning 
cram her, 
There is n't one in ten but thinks far 
more 
Of his own grub than of his spouse's 
grammar. 

I know it is the greatest shame in life; 
But who among them (save, perhaps, 
myself), 
Returning hungry home, but asks his wife, 
What beef — not books — she has upon 
*^> • the shelf ? 



Though Greek and Latin be the lady's 
boast, 
They 're little valued by her loving mate ; 
The kind of tongue that husbands relish 
most 
Is modern, boiled, and served upon a 
plate. 

Or if, as fond ambition may command, 
Some home-made verse the happy 
matron show him, 
What mortal spouse but from her dainty 
hand 
Would sooner see a pudding than a 
poem? 

Young lady — deep in love with Ed and 
Harry — 

'Tis sad to tell you such a tale as this; 
But here 's the moral of it: Do not marry; 

Or, marrying, take your lover as he is — 

A very man — not one of nature's clods — 
With human failings, whether saint or 
sinner; 
Endowed, perhaps, with genius from the 
gods, 
But apt to take his temper from his 
dinner. 



KIND. 



A bachelor bequeathed his property to 
the girls who had refused him; for to 
them, said he, I owe all my earthly hap- 
piness. 



SYMPATHY. 



No radiant pearl, which crested fortune 
wears, 

No gem, that twinkling hangs from beau- 
ty's ears; 

Not the bright stars, which night's blue 
arch adorn, 

Nor rising sun, that gilds the vernal 
morn; 

Shine with such lustre, as the tear that 
flows 

Down virtue's manly cheek for other's 
woes. 










A BOOK OF POEMS 



<T 






535 



TRUE LOVE. 

To whom she list, she did great liking 

shew, 
Great liking unto many, hut true love to 

few. 



'TIS SWEET. 

.... 'T is sweet to hear, 
At midnight on the blue and moonlit 
deep, 
The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, 
By distance mellowed, o'er the waters 
sweep; 
'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 
'T is sweet to listen as the night-winds 
creep 
From leaf to leaf; 't is sweet to view on 

high 
The rainbow, based on ocean, span the 
sky. 

'T is sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest 

bark 
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw 

near home; 
'T is sweet to know there is an eye will 

mark . 
Our coming, and look brighter when 

we come; 
'T is sweet to be awakened by the lark, 
Or lulled by falling waters; sweet the 

hum 
Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of 

birds, 
The lisp of children, and their earliest 

words. 

Sweet is the vintage, when the showering 
grapes 

In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth, 
Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes 

From civic revelry to rural mirth; 
Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps; 

Sweet to the father is his tirst-born's 
birth ; 
Sweet is revenge, — especially to women, 
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 




'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, oue's 
laurels, 
By blood or ink; *t is sweet to put an 
end 
To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have 
our quarrels, 
Particularly with a tiresome friend; 
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels; 
Dear is the helpless creature we defend 
Against the world; and dear the school- 
boy spot 
We ne'er forget, though there we are 
forgot. 

But sweeter still than this, than these, 
than all, 
Is first and passionate love, — it stands 
alone, 
Like Adam's recollection of his fall; 
The tree of knowledge has been plucked, 
— all's known, — 
And life yields nothing further to recall 
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown, 
No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven 
Fire which Prometheus filched for us 
from heaven. 



WOMAN. 



Trust not the treason of those smiling 
looks, 
Until ye have their guileful trains well 
tried, 
For they are like unto the golden hooks 
That from the "foolish fish" their 
baits do hide. 



MARY. 



She hath all courtly parts more exquisite 

Than any lady. 
And from every one, the best she hath 
she gives me; 
And she, of all compounded, 
Outsells them all; 
And excels all others. 



FOOLS. 



Fools, not to know how far a humble lot 
Exceeds abundance by injustice got. ~ ^* 

a m 



^536 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A REBUS. 

"What is rebus?" I asked dear Mary, 
As close my side the gay maiden was 
seated: 
I saw her eyes droop and her countenance 
vary, 
And she said iu reply, " ' Tis a kiss, sir, 
repeated." 



NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH 
SAILOR. 

I love contemplating — apart 

From all his homicidal glory — 
The traits that soften to our heart 
Napoleon's glory! 

'T was when his banners at Boulogne 
Armed in our island every freeman, 
His navy chanced to capture one 
Poor British seaman. 

They suffered him — I know not how — 

Unprisoned on the shore to roam; 
And aye was bent his longing brow 
On England's home. 

His eye, methinks! pursued the flight 

Of birds to Britain half-way over; 
With envy they could reach the white 
Dear cliffs of Dover. 

A stormy midnight watch, he thought, 
Than this sojourn would have been 
dearer, 
If but the storm his vessel brought 
To England nearer. 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 

He saw one morning, dreaming, doting, 
An empty hogshead from the deep 
Come shoreward floating; 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 

The live-long day laborious; lurking 
Until he launched a tiny boat 
By mighty working. 

Heaven help us ! 't was a thing beyond 
Description wretched; such a wherry 
Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, 
Or crossed a ferry. 




For plowing in the salt-sea field, 

It would have made the boldest shudder; 
Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, — 
No sail, no rudder. 

From neighboring woods he interlaced 
His sorry skiff with watered willows; 
And thus equipped he would have passed 
The foaming billows, — 

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, 

His little Argus sorely jeering; 
Till tidings of him chanced to reach 
Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood, 

Serene alike in peace and danger; 
And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger : 

"Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel 
pass 
On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, 
Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
Must be impassioned." 

" I have no sweetheart," said the lad; 

" But — absent long from one another — 
Great was the longing that I had 
To see my mother."' 

" And so thou shalt," Napoleon said, 
" Ye 've both my favor fairly won; 
A noble mother must have bred 
So brave a son. 

He gave the tar a piece of gold, 

And, with a flag of truce, commanded 
He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 

Our sailor oft could scantily shift 

To find a dinner, plain and hearty, 
But never changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonaparte. 



OH, FLY. 



Oh, fly to the prairie, sweet maiden, with 

me, 
The vine and the prairie-rose blossom for 

thee. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY SIGNET RING. 

I have a ring with a name cut iu it, 
A ring I've worn since my youthful 

years; 
1 see the giver again this minute, 

As he looked to me through my glad 

young tears, 
When placing the ring on my trembling 

finger. 
Oh, why did he wait? Oh, why did he 

linger? 
I asked him why, and he simply said, 
u Be faithful, child!" and turned his head. 

We're parted long, but it stays where he 

placed it, 
The ring I've worn since my youthful 

years; 
Time and wear have somewhat defaced it, 
But oft I 've read, through my blind- 
ing tears, 
That name, and kissed it, for oh, why 

not? 
Should the dear name "Father" be ever 

forgot ? 
And now that he borders his four-score 

years 
I gaze on it oftener and oftener with 

tears. 



"WHO PLANTS THE WILLOW." 

" He who plants the willow, plants his 
sorrow," 

Laughing, I recalled the proverb old, 
As I set a tasseled wand of willow 

In the rich and fragrant garden mold. 

In a little time the brown buds opened, 
And the young, green leaves unfolded 
fair, 
And the next bright May a graceful sap- 
ling 
Waved its tresses in the mellow air. 

Month by month it grew in strength and 
beauty; 
Year by year it cast a broader shade; 
Birds made love and nested in its branches, 
While beneath, my fair-haired darling 
played. 




Yet in all my wide and pleasant garden 
Never any thorn of sorrow grew; 

And I smiled, the olden rule recalling — 
"Ah," I said, "the proverb is not true! 

Why did I not see the bitter anguish 
Growing slowly, slowly in my way, 

To obscure with poisonous upas-shadow 
All the light and sweetness of the day? 

Yet, as years went by, a fear beset me, 
While the willow grew more broad and 
fair, 

And I questioned with a dim misgiving, 
" Did I plant my sorrow unaware? " 

Now the willow-tree, grown tall and 
stately, 
Swings its slender branches to the 
eaves, 
While a soft, incessant melancholy 
Sighs and whispers through its myriad 
leaves. 

Did I, then, so lightly plant my sorrow? 

Higher, broader than this sighing tree, 
Lo, a giant grief shuts out the sunshine, 

Darkening, changing all the world for 
me! 

And, alas! the willow that I planted 
Will grow old, and fall, and cease to be; 

But the sorrow will not lift its shadow 
From my heart, through all eternity. 



NOT FORGOTTEN. 

Not quite forgotten, though the years 
endeavor 
To fling a veil between thy soul and 
mine; 
Deep in my heart thy memory liveth ever, 
By tears and smiles unaltered is thy 
shrine. 

Not quite forgotten, oh, thou first and 
fairest 
Of all my day dreams, thou who yet 
must be 
Trusted in longest and still loved the 
dearest. 
Forgotten ? There is no such word for 
thee! 







538 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




Not quite forgotten, for thy dear reflec- 
tion 
Undimm'd in memory ever must re- 
main; 
And there are times when all the old 
affection 
Which I have borne thee surges back 
again. ' 

No, not forgotten, for a chance resem- 
blance — 
A voice which rings as thine hath rung 
of old — 
Will often bring thee back to my remem- 
brance, 
And reproduce the past a thousand 
fold. 

Faint as the fragrance of a flower long 
gathered, 
Such is the love T bear thee, and no sin 
I count it, for its passion long since with- 
ered, 
And now 't is love with naught of 
earth therein. 



THE TREASURES OP THE DEEP. 

What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves 
and cells? 
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious 
main ! — 
Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-col- 
ored shells, 
Bright things which gleam unreckedof 
and in vain! — 
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea! 
We ask not such from thee. 

Yet more, the depths have more! — what 
wealth untold, 
Far down, and shining through their 
stillness lies! 
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning 
gold, 
Won from ten thousand royal argo- 



sies: 



i 



Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and 
wrathful main! 
. n Earth claims not these again. 



Yet more, the depths have more! — thy 
waves have rolled 
Above the cities of a world gone by! 
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, 
Sea- weed o'ergrown the halls of revel- 
ry-— 
Dash o'er them, ocean, in thy scornful 
play! 
Man yields them to decay. 

Yet more, the billows and the depths 
have more! 
High hearts and brave are gathered to 
thy breast! 
They hear not now the booming waters 
roar, 
The battle- thunders will not break their 
rest. — 
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy 



grave 



Give back the true and brave! 

Give back the lost and lovely ! — those for 
whom 
The place was kept at board and hearth 
so long! 
The prayer went up through midnight's 
breathless gloom, 
And the vain yearning woke midst 
festal song! 
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers 
o'erthrown, — 
But all is not thine own. 

To thee the love of woman hath gone 
down, 
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's 
noble head, 
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's 
flowery crown; 
Yet must thou hear a voice, — Restore 
the dead! 
Earth shall reclaim her precious things 
from thee! — 
Restore the dead, thou sea! 



YOUTH. 



The charms of youth at once are seen 

and past, 
And Nature says "They are too sweet to 

last." 




ts 






A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE RETURN OF BEPPO. 

While Laura thus was seen, and seeing, 

smiling, 
Talking, she knew not why, and cared 

not what, 
So that her female friends, with envy 

broiling, 
Beheld her airs and triumph, and all 

that; 
And well-dressed males still kept before 

her filing, 
And passing bowed and mingled with 

her chat; 
More than the rest one person seemed to 

stare 
With pertinacity that's rather rare. 

He was a Turk, the color of mahogany; 
And Laura saw him, and at first was 
glad, 
Because the Turks so much admire phil- 
ogyny, 
Although the usage of their wives is 
* sad; 
'T is said they use no better than a dog 
any 
Poor woman, whom they purchase like 
a pad; 
They have a number, though they ne'er 

exhibit 'em, 
Four wives by law, and concubines "ad 
libitum." 

They lock them up, and veil, and guard 

them daily, 
They scarcely can behold their male 

relations, 
So that their moments do not pass so 

gayly 

As is supposed the case with northern 
nations; 

Confinement, too, must make them look 
quite palely; 
And as the Turks abhor long conversa- 
tions, 

Their days are either passed in doing 
nothing, 

Or bathing, nursing, making love and 
clothing. 



Our Laura's Turk still kept his eyes upon 

her, 
Less in the Mussulman than Christian 

way, 
Which seems to say, " Madam, I do you 

honor, 
And while I please to stare, you '11 

please to stay." 
Could staring win a woman, this had won 

her, 
But Laura could not thus be led astray; 
She had stood fire too long and well to 

boggle 
Even at this stranger's most outlandish 

ogle. 

Laura, who knew it would not do at all 
To meet the daylight after seven hours' 
sitting 
Among three thousand people at a ball, 
To make her courtesy thought it right 
and fitting: 
The Count was at her elbow with her 
shawl, 
And they the room were on the point 
of quitting, 
When lo! those cursed gondoliers had got 
Just in the very place where they should 
not. 

j£ j£ £|& it. &. 

The Count and Laura found their boat at 
last, 
And homeward floated o'er the silent 
tide, 
Discussing all the dances gone and past; 
The dancers and their dresses, too, be- 
side; 
Some little scandals eke: but all aghast 
(As to their palace steps the rowers 
glide) 
Sate Laura by the side of her adorer, 
When lo! the Mussulman was there be- 
fore her. 

"Sir," said the Count, with brow exceed- 
ing grave, 
"Your unexpected presence here will 
make 
It necessary for myself to crave 

Its import? But perhaps 'tis a mis 
take; ~ 

T3 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



I hope it is so; and at once to waive 
All compliment, I hope so for your 
sake: 

You understand my meaning, or you 
shall." 

"Sir," (quoth the Turk), "'tis no mis- 
take at all. 



"That lady is my wife!" Much wonder 
paints 
The lady's changing cheek, as well it 
might; 
ButVhere an English woman sometimes 
faints, 
Italian females don't do so outright. 
They only call a little on their saints, 
And then come to themselves, almost 
or quite; 
Which saves much hartshorn, salts, and 

sprinkling faces, 
And cutting stays, as usual in such cases. 



She said, — what could she say? Why, 
not a word; 
But the Count courteously invited in 
The stranger, much appeased by what he 
heard : 
"Such things, perhaps, we'd best dis- 
cuss within," 
Said»he, "don't let us make ourselves ab- 
surd 
In public, by a scene, nor raise a din, 
For then the chief and only satisfaction 
Will be much quizzing on the whole 
transaction." 

They entered, and for coffee called, — it 
came, 
A beverage for Turks and Christians 
both, 
Although the way they make it 's not the 
same. 
Now Laura, much recovered, or less 
loath 
To speak, cries, "Beppo, what's your 
pagan name? 
Bless me! your beard is of amazing 
growth ! 
And how came you to keep away so long? 
Are you not sensible 'twas very wrong? 





"And are you really, truly, now a Turk? 

With any other women did you wive? 
Is 't true they use their fingers for a fork? 
Well, that 's the prettiest shawl — as 
I'm alive! 
You '11 give it me? They say you eat no 
pork. 
And how so many years did you con- 
trive 
To— Bless me! Did I ever? No, I 

never 
Saw a man grown so yellow! How's 
your liver? 

" Beppo, that beard of yours becomes you 

not; 
It shall be shaved before you are a day 

older; 
Why do you wear it? 0, I had forgot — 
Pray, do n't you think the weather here 

is colder? 
How do I look? You sha' n't stir from 

this spot 
In that queer dress, for fear that some 

beholder 
Should find you out, and make the story 

known. 
How short your hair is! Lord! how gray 

it's grown!" 

What answer Beppo made to these de- 
mands 
Is more than I know. He was cast 
away 
About where Troy stood once, and noth- 
ing stands; 
Became a slave, of course, and for his 
pay 
Had bread and bastinadoes, till some 
bands 
Of pirates landing in a neighboring bay, 
He joined the rogues and prospered, and 

became 
A renegado of indifferent fame. 

But he grew rich, and with his riches 
grew so 
Keen the desire to see his home again, 
He thought himself in duty bound to 
do so, 
And not be always thieving on the 
main; 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




Lonely he felt, at times, as Robin Crusoe, 
And so he hired a vessel come from 

Spain, 
Bound for Corfu: she was a tine polacca, 
Manned with twelve hands, and laden 

with tobacco. 

Himself, and much (Heaven knows how 
gotten!) cash, 
He then embarked, with risk of life and 
limb, 
And got clear off, although the attempt 
was rash; 
He said that Providence protected him, 
For my part, I say nothing, lest we clash 
In our opinions: — well, the ship was 
trim, 
Set sail, and kept her reckoning fairly on, 
Except three days of calm when off Cape 
Bonn. 

They reached the island, he transferred 
his lading, 
And self and live stock, to another 
bottom, 
And passed for a true Turkey merchant, 
trading 
With goods of various names, but I Ve 
forgot 'em. 
However, he got off by this evading, 
Or else the people would perhaps have 
shot him; 
And thus at Venice landed to reclaim 
His wife, religion, house, and Christian 
name. 

His wife received, the patriarch rebap- 
tized him 
(He made the church a present, by the 
way); 
He then threw off the garments which 
disguised him, 
And borrowed the Count's small-clothes 
for a day; 
His friends the more for his long absence 
prized him, 
Finding he'd wherewithal to make 
them gay 
With dinners, where he oft became the 

laugh of them, 
For stories, — but I don't believe the half 
of them. t 



Whate'er his youth had suffered, his old 
age, 
With wealth and talking, made him 
some amends; 
Though Laura sometimes put him in a 
rage, 
I 've heard the count and he were al- 
ways friends. 
My pen is at the bottom of a page, 

Which being finished, here the story 
ends; 
'T is to be wished it had been soonerdone, 
But stories somehow lengthen when be- 
gun. 



WOMAN. 



Constant you are; but yet a woman; 
And for secresy, no lady closer; 
For I well believe, thou wilt not utter 
What thou dost not know; 
And so far will I trust thee. 




TAKE IT BACK, PLEASE. 

You kissed me at the gate last night, 
And mother heard the smack; 

She says its naughty to do so, 
So please to take it back. 

I cannot see what harm there is 
In such a thing — can you? 

But mother seems so very wroth, 
Please take it back — now do. 

It seems to me quite natural 
For the lips to meet that way; 

But mother says its very wrong, 
So take it back, I pray. 

And, come to think of it, I 'm sure 
That several times 'twas done; 

So now, to make it right, be sure 
To take back every one. 

I would not have you think its me; 

I do not care a mite; 
But mother's so particular; 

Please take it back to-night. 




Ha 



542 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






MY ANSWER. 

Will the wife be just as precious 
As the sweetheart seems to be? 

Yes, darling one, you will forever be 
Sweetheart, and wife, the same dear one 

to me; 
Though age may silver turn your sunny 

hair, 
And trace your brow with furrowed lines 

of care, 
To me you always will be young and fair. 

Your eyes will always be the same sweet 

blue, 
As when I first gave my heart's love to 

you; 
Your face will always be as pure and 

bright 
As now it is aglow with love's fond light; 
I vow to you eternal love to-night. 

All else on earth may change, droop, and 

decay, 
But, dear, my love for you will live for 

aye; 
Fortune may smile or frown as seemeth 

best — 
In my heart's love you can serenely rest, 
And with your love I shall be ever blest. 

Then trust me, darling, have no doubts 
or fears; 

Together let us share the coming years. 

Be my sweet wife, and you '11 be sweet- 
heart still, 

Through all life's changes, whether good 
or ill, 

Forever be my darling? Yes, you will. 



YOU KISSED ME. 

You kissed me. My head sunk low on 

your breast 
With a feeling of shelter and infinite 

rest, 
And the holy emotions my tongue dare 

not speak 
Flash up in a flame from my heart to my 

cheek. 
Your arms clasped me round. Oh, your 

arms were so bold! 



Heart beat against heart in their passion- 
ate fold. 

Your lips clung to mine till I prayed in 
my bliss 

They might never unclasp from the rap- 
turous kiss. 

You kissed me. My strength and my 
will 

In delirious joy for a moment stood still. 

Life had then for me no temptations, no 
charms, 

No vision of happiness outside of your 
arms; 

And were I this instant an angel, pos- 
sessed 

Of the peace and the joy that are given 
the blest, 

I would fling my white robes unrepining- 
ly down. 

I would tear from my forehead its beau- 
tiful crown 

To nestle once more in that heaven of 
rest — 

Your lips upon mine, my head on your 
breast. 

You kissed me. My soul in a bliss so 

divine 
Reeled and swooned like a drunken man, 

foolish with wine; 
And I thought 'twere delicious to die 

then, if death 
Would but come while my lips were yet 

moist with your breath — 
If my pulses might cease and my heart 

might grow cold 
While your arms wrapt me around in their 

passionate fold: 
And these are the questions I ask day and 

night: 
Must my lips taste no more such exquis- 
ite delight? 
Would you care if your breast were my 

shelter as then, — 
And if you were here would you kiss me 

again ? 




WOMAN AND BEAUTY. 

If ladies be but young and fair, 
They have the gift to know they are 





ate 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



543 O 



SEPARATION. 

Once thou wast all in all, but now a thing 

apart, 

No longer art my blessing, or nay curse; 

The illusion is gone forever, and now thou 

art 

Insensible, I trust, but none the worse. 



CROSS AS ANY BEAR. 

As homeward comes the married man, 

He 's met by wife # at door 
With fond embrace and loving kiss 

And — " Baby's throat is sore ! 

" And did you think to stop at Brown's, 

And get that marabout 
I ordered yesterday? And, dear, 

Fred's boots are all worn out. 

" I 'm glad you are so early, John, 

So much I miss you, dear — 
I've a letter from mamma; 

She 's coming to live here. 

" How very glad you look, dear John, 
I knew that you would be — 

The flour 's out, the butter, and 
You must send home some tea. 

" That plumber has been here again; 

If you don't pay he'll sue; 
And Mr. Pendergrast called in 

To say your rent was due. 

u Fred's trousers are half cotton, John, 
You thought they were all wool, 

Oh, that reminds me that your son 
Was whipped to-day at school. 

" What makes you look so grave, my love ? 

Take off your things and wipe 
Your feet. And only think, to-day 

Jane broke your meerschaum pipe. 

" Oh, John ! that horrid word ! 

You do not love me, dear; 
I wish that I — boo-hoo — were dead — 

You 're cross as any bear." 




INGRATITUDE. 

It makes one so unhappy! It makes one 

feel so blue, 
To have your mother and your friends all 

lay the blame on you, 
When any one with half an eye can see 

as plain as day, 
It's everybody else that acts in such an 

awful way! 

Perhaps they '11 all be sorry when they 

see me fade away — 
For who would ever want to live the life 

I 've lived to-day? 
Perhaps they '11 realize too late how 

wicked and absurd 
It is to crush a person down without one 

kindly word. 



ROMANCE. 



She did n't like me when we met — 
But turned away and pouted; 

'T was very cool, I own, to get 

At first a snub so final, yet 
I clung to hope and doubted. 

Strange as it seems, a few short weeks 

Confirmed my sanguine guesses; 
I came to understand her freaks, 
And even dared to kiss her cheeks, 
And stroke her golden tresses. 

So time went on, and as we grew 
To know each other better, 

She bravely learned to kiss me, too; 

And when she strangely tried to woo, 
Somehow I used to let her. 

The privilege still yet is mine 

With kiss her lips to smother; 
Still round my neck she likes to twine 
Her soft white arms. I '11 drop a line, 
I guess, and ask her mother. 

This rhyme produces envy — strife, 

Within your reason, maybe; 
So let me take a leaf from life: 
Her mother is my darling wife, 
And she my blessed baby. 



^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE FARMER'S WOOING. 

The daisies nodded in the grass, the but- 
tercups were sleeping, 

And just across the river sang the farm- 
ers at their reaping; 

Upon the hills so blue and far the maple 
leaves were showing 

Their soft white beauties in the breeze 
that from the sea was blowing. 
A little maid came through the land 

with song and rippling laughter, 
The buttercups made way for her. the 
daisies nodded after. 

A strong young farmer saw her pause 

beside the parting river; 
She drew a lily from its depths with 

golden heart a-quiver. 
" Thou art more fair than lilies are," said 

he with head uplifted, 
And threw a poppy as the stream, toward 

the maiden drifted. 
She set the flowers in her hair — the 

red and white together; 
A cloud grew black before the sun, and 

rainy was the weather. 

He came across the river then, this 

farmer from his mowing, 
He minded not the water's depth, he cared 

not for its flowing. 
" love ! " said he," " if gleaming sun and 

cloudless skies o'erlean us, 
The river's barring width may roll un- 

passed, untried between us; 
But when loud thunder fills the air, 

and clouds and rain come over, 
I 'd cross the ocean to your side — I am 

no fair-day lover! 

And so one day the village bells rang out 

across the river, 
Their music set the buttercups and daisies 

all a-quiver, 
While some one drew a lily from the 

stream so blithely flowing, 
And plucked a blood-red poppy that amid 

the wheat was growing; 
The maiden set them in her hair — the 

red and white together — 
With many a smile, a tear or two, and 

glances at the weather. 




They passed beneath the chapel's shade 
the farmer and the maiden — 

Where arches crossed above their heads, 
with snowy blossoms laden, 

And in that place of holy calm the bind- 
ing words were spoken; 

He in his heart bore out the truth, she 

on her hand the token. 

The years went by and some were 

bright, and some were clouded over, 

But ever stood he at her side — he was 

no fair-day lover. 



HOW SHE TOLD IT. 

He held my hand — 

I knew 't was wrong, 
And still I did not chide him; 

He clasped my waist — 

He is so strong, 
And I so weak beside him ! 

He bent his face 

Down close to mine — 
His brown eyes were so pleading! 

And maybe, too, 

He saw in mine — 
But eyes are so misleading! 

His mustache brushed 

My reddening cheek — 
Oh, dear! how it did tickle! 

I had to smile — 

I could n't speak — 
I wonder if he 's fickle ? 

He kissed me ? Well, 

If you must know, 
I 'm sure I do n't deny it! 

And I kissed him? 

Well, maybe so — 
His actions would imply it. 

My foolish heart 

Was throbbing so 
That I could not prevent it. 

He said he loved me — 

I do n't know — 
I wonder if he meant it ? 












05 

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Pbr-P 



35 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




WOMAN. 

A beautiful woman, if poor, should use 

double circumspection; 
For her beauty will tempt others; her 

poverty herself. 



I HELD THE SKEIN. 

I held the skein for her one nigbt, 
When the shadowy glint of the firelight 
Danced fitfully on the opposite wall, 
Polly and I, and that was all, 
Were there to see the ghostly ball; 
Tongs and scuttles, hearth-dogs and cat, 
Venus de Milo and Mandarin fat, 
Table and lamp, and chairs where we sat, 
In rhythmic measure went round and 

round, 
In rhythmic measure with never a sound. 
While Polly's arms as she wound and 

wound, 
Looked like a fiddler drawing his bow 
Across his fiddle to and fro; 
The strings were those of the skein, you 

know, 
I held the skein. 

I held the skein. I 'd known her long, 
And my heart had learned the same old 

song 
That hearts have sung since hearts were 

made, 
Trilled in the sunlight or sobbed in the 

shade. 
But my lips were mute, for I was afraid 
To speak my thoughts. So I held my 

peace 
And borrowed hope, and took new lease 
Of _Xf riendship I hated yet dreaded might 

cease. 
For Polly was oddish and queer in her 

ways, 
Her ayes were nays and her nays were 

yeas, 
And it often took me days and days 
To find out if she was vexed or pleased, 
Or if I 'd been wounded or only teased; 
But her ladyship was this night appeased. 
I held the skein. 



I held the skein, the last few strands; 
And as they escaped, my outstretched 

hands 
Were stretched out further and further 

still 
(You see, the yarn might have dropped), 

until 
Somehow — well, Polly wasn't ill, 
Only a little bit tired, she said, 
And, perhaps, a suspicion of ache in the 

head 
That nestled close under a beard that was 

red, 
But is auburn now. And she calls me 

Ned, 
And says it was really very ill-bred 
To kiss her and hold her waist instead 
Of the skein, and she '11 never trust me 

again; 
But she has, for years have flown since 

then 
I held the skein. 



CLOUDS. 



A cloud on the face of a friend that we 
love 

Will hide every trace of the sunshine 
above, 

Fill the heart with its gloom, and the at- 
mosphere chill, 

Like a shadow of doom, the foreboding 
of ill. 

Ah, many will roam, seeking places more 

fair, 
When the gardens at home need their 

culture and care; 
And many bright flowers a brief race 

have run, 
Because for long hours kept out of the 

sun. 



FOOL. 



Fool, join not madness to mistake, 

Thou knowest she loved thee not a whit; 
Only that she thy heart might break 
She wanted it. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



MY SECRET. 

Bright little cowslip down in the meadow 
land, 
Green blades of grass so tall and so 
high, 
Why do you bow to me as I approach 
you? 
Is it to tell me that he has passed by? 

Pretty wild rosebud why are you blush- 
ing? 
Dear little robin why do you sing? 
Is it because you are longing to tell me 
How grand, true and noble is Philip, 
my king? 

Gushing wild meadow-brook, onward 
your 're straying, 
Unmindful of all my heart has to say; 
Now, cowslip and rosebud, robin and 
meadow-brook, 
Hush — keep my secret — he's coming 
this way. 



OVER THE HILL FROM THE POOR- 
HOUSE. 

I, who was always counted, they say, 
Rather a bad stick anyway, 
Splintered all over with dodges and tricks, 
Known as "the worst of the Deacon's 

six;" 
I, the truant, saucy and bold, 
The one black sheep in my father's fold, 
"Once on a time," as the stories say, 
Went over the hill on a winter's day — 
Over the hill to the poor-house. 

Tom could save what twenty could earn; 
But givin' was somethin' he ne'er would 

learn; 
Isaac could half o' the Scriptur's speak — 
Committed a hundred verses a week; 
Never forgot, an' never slipped; 
But "Honor thy father and mother" he 

skipped; 
over the hill to the poor-house! 





As for Susan, her heart was kind 

An' good — what there was of it, mind; 

Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, 

Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice 

For one she loved; an' that 'ere one 

Was herself, when all was said an' done; 

An' Charley an' Becca meant well, no 

doubt, 
But anyone could pull 'em about; 
An' all o' our folks ranked well, you see, 
Save one poor fellow, an' that was me; 
An' when, one dark an' rainy night, 
A neighbor's horse went out o' sight, 
They hitched on me as the guilty chap 
That carried one end o' the halter-strap. 
An' I think, myself, that view of the case 
Was n't altogether out o' place. 

My mother denied it, as mothers do, 
But I am inclined to believe 'twas true; 
Though for me one thing might be said — 
That I, as well as the horse, was led; 
And the worst of whisky spurred me on, 
Or else the deed would have never been 

done. 
But the keenest grief I ever felt 
Was when my mother beside me knelt, 
An' cried, an' prayed, till I melted down, 
As I would n't for half the horses in 

town 
I kissed her fondly, then an' there, 
An' swore henceforth to be honest and 

square. 

I served my sentence — a bitter pill 
Some fellows should take who never will; 
And then I decided to go " out West," 
Concludin' 't would suit my health the 

best; 
Where, how I prospered I never could 

tell, 
But fortune seemed to like me well; 
An' somehow every vein I struck 
Was always bubbling over with luck. 
An', better than that, I was steady an' 

true, 
An' put my good resolutions through. 
But I wrote to a trusty neighbor, an' said, 
"You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, 
An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em 

more 
Than if I had lived the same as before. 





TiV 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






But when this neighbor he wrote to me, 
"Your mother's in the poor-house," says 

he, 
I had a resurrection straightway, 
An' started for her that very day. 
And when I arrived where I was grown, 
I took good care that I shouldn't be 

known; 
But I bought the old cottage, through 

and through, 
Of some one Charley had sold it to, 
And held back neither work nor gold 
To fix it up as it was of old. 
The same big fire-place, wide and high, 
Flung up its cinders toward the sky; 
The old clock ticked on the corner-shelf — 
I wound it an' set it a-goin 1 myself; 
An' if everything was n't just the same, 
Neither I nor money was to blame; 
Then — over the hill to the poor-house! 

One blowin', blusterin' winter's day, 

With a team an' cutter I started away; 

My fiery nags were as black as coal; 

(They some'at resembled the horse I 
stole;) 

I hitched, an' entered the poor-house 
door — 

A poor old woman was scrubbin' the 
floor; 

She rose to her feet in great surprise, 

And looked, quite startled, into my eyes; 

I saw the whole of her trouble's trace 

In the lines that marred her dear old face; 

"Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrow is 
done! 

You 're adopted along o' your horse-thief 
son; 
Come over the hill from the poor- 
house!" 

She didn't faint; she knelt by my side, 
An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried. 
An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' 

gayi 
An' maybe she was n't wrapped up that 

day; 
An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' 

bright, 
An' maybe it was n't a pleasant sight 
To see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea, 
An' frequently stoppin' an' kissin' me; 



An' maybe we did n't live happy for years, 
In spite of ray brothers' and sisters' 

sneers, 
Who often said, as I have heard, 
That they would n't own a prison-bird 
(Though they're gettin' over that, I 

guess, 
For all of 'em owe me more or less); 
But I 've learned one thing, an' it cheers 

a man 
In always a-doin' the best he can — 
That, whether on the big book a blot 
Gets over a fellow's name or not, 
Whenever he does a deed that 's white, 
It's credited to him fair and right. 
An' when you hear the great bugle's 

notes, 
An' the Lord divides his sheep and goats, 
However they may settle my case, 
Wherever they may fix my place, 
My good old Christian mother, you '11 see, 
Will be sure to stand right up for me, 
With over the hill from the poor-house ! 



UNDER THE UMBRELLA. 

The wind was damp with coming wet, 
When James and blue-eyed Lizzie met; 
He held a gingham o'er his head, 
And to the maiden thus he said: 

" 0, lovely girl, my heart 's afire 
With love's unquenchable desire: 
Say, dearest one, wilt thou be mine, 
And join me in the grocery line? " 

The maid in accents sweet replied: 
" Jim, hold the umbrella more my side, 
My bran-new bonnet 's getting wet — 
I '11 marry yer — yer need not fret." 



POP CORN. 



Quoth blushing Kate, while popping corn, 

Unto her lover with a sigh, 
" I would you were a kernel born, 

Now can you guess the reason why?" 



" For thy sweet cornstalk I 've an ear," 
With husk-y voice the youth replied, 

" But I 'm too green to pop, I fear," 
Said saucy Kate: " You never tried! 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



549 



THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 

If I climb to the mountain of gladness, 

And bask in the sunshine of bliss, 
If, unheeding all sorrow and sadness, 

Forgetting the good that I miss, 
I look out from my uplands of being 

Across the broad reach of the years, 
I grow tenderly sober at seeing 

The shadowy Valley of Tears. 

It is never quite lost to my vision, 

Though often beyond it I see 
The green slopes of the summit's elysian 

That wait with their blessings for me; 
And though often I long for the freedom 

That yonder eternally reigns, 
I remember that each has his Edom 

Before the glad Canaan he gains. 

When my heart with tumultuous throb- 
bing 

Takes up the sad burdens of men, 
I go down amid sighing and sobbing, 

And walk the dim valley again; 
A sober, sepulchral procession 

We make as we journey along, 
For a grief for our only possession, 

A funeral dirge for our song. 

There are willows above us low bending, 

That weep with us over our woe; 
And the mist of the mountain, descend- 
ing, 

Bedews all the way as we go. 
In the dark of our dubious grieving 

We walk as if stars had gone out. 
And our souls were grown sick of believ- 
ing 

The morrow were more than a doubt. 

There are hearts, with their hunger 
pathetic, 

That walk in the Valley of Tears; 
There are souls, in their sadness ascetic, 

That linger and grieve through the 
years; 
There are loves that come silently hither 

To seek for some treasure of cost, 
And mourn, as a bairn for its mither, 

The wonderful love that is lost. 




There are many who wait and who wander 

Within the dim valley with me, 
And who yearn for the mountain-tops 
yonder, 

The sunlight and gladness to see; 
But a stranger I look in their faces, 

And strangers they look into mine; 
And as strangers we grope for the places 

Where sunlight and gladness may shine. 

For who walks in the valley so lonely 

Goes there in his sorrow alone; 
And who gives friendly greeting gives 
only 

For bread to the hungry a stone. 
They may touch us whose yesterday's 
tender 

Made loving and living supreme: 
But our grieving refuses surrender, 

And friendship was only a dream. 

I am far up the mountains of being; 

The mists of the valley below, 
In their beauty shut out from my seeing 

The valley where soon I must go; 
But I know, though the sun of my 
hoping 

May shine with gladness and cheers, 
That I soon will be wearily groping 

My way in the Valley of Tears. 

You may smile on the summits of glad- 
ness 

Who never have wept at their base; 
But in time with the garment of sadness 

You closely will cover your face. 
And unknown of many who wander, 

Unknowing, as they are unknown, 
You will grope from the radiance yonder, 

Across the dark valley, alone. 

Amid pitiful sobbing and sighing, 

Where willows and cypresses bend, 
You shall walk where the shadows are 

lying, 
And see not a sign of the end; 
You shall know by the twilight unbroken, 
When morn on the mountain appears, 
You have come, without warning or 
token, 
At length to the Valley of Tears 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




HOPE. 

Hope! fortune's cheating lottery; 
Where, for one prize, a hundred blanks 
there be. 



HOW STRANGE IT IS. 

How strange it will be love — how strange 
when we two 
Shall be what all lovers become! 
You rigid and faithless, I cold and untrue! 
You thoughtless of me, and I careless of 

you; 
Our pet-names grown rusty, with nothing 

to do; 
Love's bright web unveiled and rent and 
worn through, 
And life's loom left empty — ah, hum! 
Ah, me! 

How strange it will be ! 

How strange it will be when the witchery 
goes, 
Which makes me seem lovely to-day; 
When your thought of me loses its col- 
our de rose; 
When every day serves some new fault to 

disclose, 
And wonder you could for a moment 

suppose — 
When you find I've cold eyes and an 
every-day nose — 
I was out of the commonplace way; 
Ah, me! 

How strange it will be! 

How strange it will be, love— how strange 
when we meet 
With just a still touch of the hand; 
When my pulses no longer delightfully 

beat 
At the thought of your coming, the 

sound of your feet; 
When I watch not your coming far down 

the long street; 
When your dear, loving voice, too, so 
thrillingly sweet, 
Grows harsh in reproach of command; 
Ah, me ! 

How strange it will be! 




How strange it will be when we're will- 
ing to stay 
Divided the whole day through 
Or getting remotely apart, as we may, 
Sit chilly and silent, with nothing to say; 
Or coolly converse on the news of the 

day, 
In a wearisome, old-married-folks sort of 
way! 
I shrink from the picture — don 't you? 
Ah, me! 

How strange it will be! 

Dear love, if our hearts do grow torpid 
and cold, 
As so many others have done; 
If we let our love perish with hunger and 

cold; 
If we dim all life's diamonds and tarnish 

its gold; 
If we choose to live wretched and die 

unconsoled, 
'Twill be the strangest of all things that 
ever were told 
As happening under the sun! 
Ah, me! 

How strange it will be! 



MOTHER'S ROOM. 

A light streams out from that lovely 

place 
To brighten life's path, and its depths 

illume, 
As we wander back over memory's track 

To mother's room. 
We meet again as we met of yore; 
Again we 're telling our troubles o'er; 
Again we 're clasped to the loving breast 
That always seemed our haven of rest. 

And when the light from our home is 
gone, 
And she is with us no longer to whom 
We owe the bliss, that we found in this 

Dear mother's room. 
We shall always hold it a sacred place, 
And always fancy we see her face 
When we open the door, despite the 

gloom, 
And to us it will always be mother's room. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



LAMBRO'S RETURN. 

Lambro, our sea-solicitor, who had 

Much less experience of dry land than 
ocean, 
On seeing his own chimney smoke, felt 
glad; 
But, not knowing metaphysics, had no 
notion 
Of the true reason of his not being sad, 
Or that of any other strong emotion; 
He loved his child, and would have wept 

the loss of her, 
But knew the cause no more than a phil- 
" osopher. 

He saw his white walls shining in the 
sun, 
His garden trees all shadowy and green; 
He heard his rivulet's light bubbling run, 
The distant dog-bark; and, perceived, 
between 
The umbrage of the wood, so cool and 
dun, 
The moving figures, and the sparkling 
sheen 
Of arms (in the East all arm), — and 
various dyes 
Of colored garbs, as bright as butter- 
flies. 



And as the spot where they appear he 
nears, 
Surprised at these unwonted signs of 
idling, 
He hears — alas! no music of the spheres, 
But an unhallowed earthly sound of 
fiddling! 
A melody which made him doubt his ears, 
The cause being past his guessing or 
unriddling; 
A pipe, too, and a drum, and, shortly 

after, 
A most unoriental roar of laughter. 

Old Lambro passed unseen a private gate, 
And stood within his hall at eventide; 

Meantime the lady and her lover sate 
At wassail in their beauty and their 
pride: 





An ivory inlaid table spread with state 
Before them, and fair slaves on every 
side; 
Gems, gold and silver formed the service 

mostly, 
Mother-of-pearl and coral the less costly. 



Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet 
On crimson satin, bordered with pale 
blue; 
Their sofa occupied three parts complete 
Of the apartment, — and appeared quite 
new; 
The velvet cushions (for a throne more 
meet) 
Were scarlet, from whose glowing cen- 
ter grew 
A sun embossed in gold, whose rays of 

tissue, 
Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue. 



Of all the dresses I select Haidee's; 
She wore two jellicks, — one was of 

pale yellow; 
Of azure, pink and white was her che- 
mise, — 
'Neath which her breast heaved like a 

little billow; 
With buttons formed of pearls as large 

as peas, 
All gold and crimson shone her jel- 

lick's fellow; 
And the striped white gauze baracan that 

bound her, 
Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flowed 

round her. 



One large gold bracelet clasped each 
lovely arm, 
Lockless, — so pliable from the pure 
gold 
That the hand stretched and shut it with- 
out harm, 
The limb which it adorned its only 
mould; 
So beautiful, its very shape would charm, 
And clinging as if loath to lose its hold, 
The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin i 
That e'er by precious metal was held 





3^' 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






-Q 



i i 



Around, as princess of her father's land, 

A like gold bar, above her instep rolled, 
Announced her rank; twelve rings were 
on her hand; 
Her hair was starred with gems; her 
veil's fine fold 
Below her breast was fastened with a 
band 
Of lavish pearls, whose worth could 
scarce be told; 
Her orange-silk full Turkish trousers 

furled 
Above the prettiest ankle in the world. 



Round her she made an atmosphere of 
life, 
The very air seemed lighter from her 
eyes, 
They were so soft and beautiful, and rife 

With all we can imagine of the skies, 
And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife, 
Too pure even for the purest human 
ties; 
Her overpowering presence made you feel 
It would not be idolatry to kneel. 



Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, 
But a white baracan, and so trans- 
parent, 

The sparkling gems beneath you might 
behold, 
Like small stars through the Milky 
Way apparent; 

His turban, furled in many a graceful 
fold, 
An- emerald aigrette, with Haidee's 
hair in 't 

Surmounted; at its clasp a glowing 
crescent, 

Whose rays shone ever trembling, but in- 
cessant. 



They were alone once more; for tljem 
to be 
Thus was another Eden: they were 
never 
Weary, unless when separate: the tree 
Cut from its forest root of years, the 
river 




Dammed from its fountain, the child 

from the knee 
And breast maternal weaned at once 

forever, 
Would wither less than these two torn 

apart; 
Alas ! there is no instinct like the heart. 

They gazed upon the sunset; 't is an hour 
Dear unto all, but dearest to their eyes, 
For it had made them what they were: 
the power 
Of love had first o'erwhelmed tbem 
from such skies, 
When happiness had been their only 
dower, 
And twilight saw them linked in pas- 
sion's ties; 
Charmed with each other, all things 

charmed that brought 
The past' still welcome as the present 
thought. 

Now pillowed cheek to cheek, in loving 
sleep, 
Haidee and Juan their siesta took, — 
A gentle slumber, but it was not deep, 

For ever and anon a something shook 
Juan, and shuddering o'er his frame 
would creep; 
And Haidee's sweet lips murmured like 
a brook, 
A wordless music, and her face so fair 
Stirred with her dream, as rose-leaves 
with the air. 

She dreamed of being alone on the sea- 
shore 
Chained to a rock: she knew not how, 

but stir 
She could not from the spot, and the loud 

roar 
Crew, and each wave rose roughly, 

threatening her; 
And o'er her upper lip they seemed to 

pour 
Until she sobbed for breath, and soon 

they were 
Foaming o'er her lone head, so fierce and 

high,— 
Each broke to drown her, yet she could 

not die. 



It 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



553 






And wet and cold and lifeless at her feet, 
Pale as the foam that frothed on his 
dead brow, 

Which she essayed in vain to clear, (how 
sweet 

Were once her cares, how idle seemed 
they now!) 

Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat 
Of his quenched heart; and the sea- 
dirges low 

Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid's 
song, 

And that brief dream appeared a life too 
long. 

And gazing on the dead, she thought his 
face 
Faded, or altered into something new, 
Like to her father's features, till each 
trace 
More like and like to Lambro's aspect 
grew,— 
With all his keen worn look and Grecian 
grace; 
And, starting, she awoke, and what to 
view? 

powers of heaven! what dark eye meets 

her there? 
'Tis — 'tis her father's — fixed upon the 
pair! 

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking 
fell, 
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, to 
see 
Him whom she deemed a habitant where 
dwell 
The ocean-buried, risen from death to 
be 
Perchance the death of one she loved so 
well: 
Dear as her father had been to Haidee, 
It was a moment of that awful kind, — 

1 have seen such, — but must not call to 

mind. 

Up Juan sprang to Haidee's bitter shriek, 
And caught her falling, and from off 
the wall 
Snatched down his sabre, in hot haste to 
wreak 
Vengeance on him who was the cause 
of all: 



Then Lambro, who till now forbore to 

speak, 
Smiled scornfully and, said, " Within 

my call, 
A thousand scimitars await the word; 
Put up, young man, put up your silly 

sword." 

And Haidee clung around him: "Juan, 
( tis — 
'Tis Lambro, — 'tis my father! Kneel 
with me, — 
He will forgive us, — yes, — it must be, — 
yes. 
dearest father, in this agony 
Of pleasure and of pain, — even while I 
kiss 
Thy garment's hem with transport, can 
it be 
That doubt should mingle with my filial 

joy? 

Deal with me as thou wilt, but spare this 
boy." 

High and inscrutable the old man stood, 
Calm in his voice, and calm within his 
eye- 
Not always signs with him of calmest 
mood: 
He looked upon her, but gave no reply; 
Then turned to Juan, in whose cheek the 
blood 
Oft came and went, as there resolved 
to die. 
In arms, at least, he stood in act to spring 
On the first foe whom Lambro's call 
might bring. 

"Young man, your sword;" so Lambro 
once more said: 
Juan replied, " Not while this arm is 
free." 
The old man's cheek grew pale, but not 
with dread, 
And drawing from his belt a pistol, he 
Replied, "^our blood be then on your 
own head." 
Then looked close at the flint, as if to 
see 
'Twas fresh, — for he had lately used the 

lock, — 
And next proceeded quietly to cock 





554 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




Lambro presented, and one instant more 
Had stopped the canto, and Don Juan's 
breath, 
When Haidee threw herself her boy 
before; 
Stern as her sire: "On me," she cried, 
" let death 
Descend, — the fault is mine; this fatal 
shore 
He found, — but sought not. I have 
pledged my faith; 
I love him, — I will die with him; I knew 
Your nature's firmness, — know your 
daughter's too." 

A minute past, and she had been all tears 
And tenderness and infancy; but now 
She stood as one who championed human 
fears, — 
Pale, statue-like, and stern, she wooed 
the blow; 
And tall beyond her sex, and their com- 
peers, 
She drew up to her height, as if to 
show 
A fairer mark; and with a fixed eye, 

scanned 
Her father's face, — but never stopped his 
hand. 

The father paused a moment, then with- 
drew 
His weapon, and replaced it; but stood 
still, 
And looking on her, as to look her through: 
"Not /," he said, "have sought this 
stranger's ill; 
Not 7 have made this desolation: few 
Would bear such outrage, and forbear 
to kill; 
But I must do my duty, — how thou hast 
Done thine, the present vouches for the 
past. 

"Let him disarm; or, by my father's head, 
His own shall roll before you like a 
ball!" 
He raised his whistle, as the word he said, 
And blew; another answered to the call, 
And, rushing in disorderly, though led, 
And armed from boot to turban, one 
and all, 




Some twenty of his train came, rank on 

rank; 
He gave the word, — " Arrest, or slay, the 

Frank." 

Then, with a sudden movement, he with- 
drew 
His daughter; while compressed within 
his clasp, 
'Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew; 
In vain she struggled in her father's 
grasp,— 
His arms were like a serpent's coil: then 
flew 
Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, 
The file of pirates; save the foremost, who 
Had fallen, with his right shoulder half 
cut through. 

The second had his cheek laid open; but 
The third, a wary, cool, old sworder, 
took 
The blows upon his cutlass, and then put 
His own well in: so well, ere you could 
look, 
His man was floored, and helpless, at his 
foot, 
With the blood running, like a little 
brook, 
From two smart sabre-gashes, deep and 

red, — 
One on the arm, the other on the head. 

And then they bound him where he fell, 
and bore 
Juan from the apartment; with a sign, 
Old Lambro bade them take him to the 
shore, 
Where lay some ships which were to 
sail at nine. 
They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar 
Until they reached some galliots, placed 
in line; 
On board of one of these, and under 

hatches, 
They stowed him, with strict orders to 
the watches. 

The last sight Haidee saw was Juan's 
gore, 
And he himself o'ermastered and cut 
down; 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



555 



His blood was running on the very floor, 
Where late he trod, her beautiful, her 
own; 

Thus much she viewed an instant and no 
more, — 
Her struggles ceased with one con- 
vulsive groan; 

On her sire's arm, which until now scarce 
held 

Her, writhing, fell she, like a cedar felled. 

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure 

dyes 
Were dabbled with the deep blood 

which ran o'er; 
And her head drooped, as when the lily 

lies 
O'ercharged with rain: her summoned 

handmaids bore 
Their lady to her couch, with gushing 

eyes; 
Of herbs and cordials they produced 

their store, 
But she defied all means they could 

employ, 
Like one life could not hold, nor death 

destroy. 

Days lay she in that state, unchanged, 

thuugh chill, 
With nothing livid, still her lips were 

red; 
She had no pulse, but death seemed 

absent still; 
No hideous sign proclaimed her surely 

dead; 
Corruption came not, in each mind to kill 
All hope; to look upon her sweet face 

bred 
New thoughts of life, for it seemed full 

of soul, — 
She had so much, earth could not claim 

the whole. 

She woke at length, but not as sleepers 
wake, 
Rather the dead, for life seemed some- 
thing new, 
A strange sensation which she must par- 
take 
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view 



Struck not her memory, though a heavy 

ache 
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, 

still true, 
Brought back the sense of pain without 

the cause, 
For, for a while, the furies made a pause. 

She looked on many a face with vacant 

eye, 
On many a token without knowing 

what; 
She saw them watch her without asking 

why; 
And recked not who around her pillow 

sat; 
Not speechless, though she spoke not; 

not a sigh 
Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and 

quick chat 
Were tried in vain by those who served; 

she gave 
No sign, save breath, of having left the 

grave. 

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded 
not; 
Her father watched, she turned her 
eyes away; 
She rec6gnized no being, and no spot, 

However dear, or cherished in their day; 
They changed from room to room, but all 
forgot, 
Gentle, but without memory, she lay; 
At length those eyes, which they would 

fain be weaning 
Back to old thoughts, waxed full of fear- 
ful meaning. 



And then a slave bethought her of a harp; 
The harper came, and tuned his instru- 
ment; 
At the first notes, irregular and sharp, 
On him her flashing eyes a moment 
bent, 
Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp 
Her thoughts from sorrow, though her 
heart resent; 
And he began a long low island-song 
Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall, 
In time to his old tune; he changed the 
theme, 
And sung of love; the fierce name struck 
through all 
Her recollection; on her flashed the 
dream 
Of what she was, and is, if ye could call 

To be so being; in a gushing stream 
The tears rushed forth from her o'er- 

clouded brain, 
Like mountain mists at length dissolved 
in rain. 

Short solace, vain relief! — thought came 
too quick, 
And whirled her brain to madness; she 
arose, 
As one who ne'er had dwelt among the 
sick, 
And flew at all she met, as on her foes; 
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, 
Although her paroxysm drew towards 
its close ; — 
Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave, 
Even when they smote her, in the hope 
to save. 

Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense; 
Nothing could make her meet her 

father's face, 
Though on all other things with looks 

intense 
She gazed, but none she ever could 

retrace; 
Food she refused, and raiment; no pre- 
tence 
Availed for either; neither change of 

place, 
Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give 

her 
Senses to sleep, — the power seemed gone 

forever. 

Twelve days and nights she withered thus; 
at last, 
Without a groan or sigh or glance to 
show 
A parting pang, the spirit from her past; 
And they who watched her nearest 
could not know 




The very instant, till the change that cast 
Her sweet face into shadow, dull and 
slow, 
Glazed o'er her eyes, — the beautiful, the 

black, — 
0, to possess such lustre, — and then lack ! 

She died, but not alone; she held within 
A second principle of life, which might 
Have dawned a fair and sinless child of 
sin; 
But closed its little being without light, 
And went down to the grave unborn, 
wherein 
Blossom and bough lie withered with 
one blight; 
In vain the dews of heaven descend above 
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of 
love. 

Thus lived, thus died she; nevermore on 

her, 
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was 

not made 
Through years or moons the inner weight 

to bear, 
Which colder hearts endure till they 

are laid 
By age in earth ; her days and pleasures 

were 
Brief, but delightful, — such as had not 

stayed 
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps 

well 
By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to 

dwell. 

That isle is now all desolate and bare, 
Its dwellings down, its tenants passed 
away; 
None but her own and father's grave is 
there, 
And nothing outward tells of human 
clay: 
Ye could not know where lies a thing so 
fair, 
No stone is there to show, no tongue 
to say, 
What was; no dirge, except the hollow 

sea's, 
Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. 







A BOOK OF POEMS 



557 










COMING ROUND. 

'T is all right, as I knew it would be by 

and by; 
We have kissed and made up again, 

Archie and I; 
And that quarrel, or nonsense, whatever 

you will, 
I think makes us love more devotedly 

still. 

The trouble was all upon my side, you 

know; 
I 'm exacting sometimes, rather foolishly 

so; 
And let anyone tell me the veriest lie 
About Archie, I 'm sure to get angry and 

cry. 

Things will go on between us again just 

the same, 
For as he explains matters, he was n't to 

blame; 
But 'tis useless to tell you; I can't make 

you see 
How it was, quite as plainly as he has 

made me. 

You thought "I would make him come 

round when we met!" 
You thought "there were slights I could 

never forget!" 
Oh, you did! let me tell you, my dear, to 

your face, 
That your thinking these things does n't 

alter the case! 

"You can tell what I said!" I don't wish 

you to tell! 
You know what a temper I have, very 

well; 
That I 'm sometimes unjust to my friends 

who are best; 
But you 've turned against Archie, the 

same as the rest! 

" Why has n't he written? what kept him 
so still?"— 

His silence was sorely against his own 
will; 

He has faults, that I own; but he wouldn't 
deceive; 

He was ill or was busy, — was both, I be- 
lieve ! 



"Did he flirt with that lady?" I s'pose I 

should say, 
Why, yes, — when she threw herself right 

in the way, 
He was led off, was foolish, but that is 

the worst, — 
And she was to blame for it all, from the 

first. 

And he 's so glad to come back again, and 

to find 
A woman once more with a heart and a 

mind; 
For though others may please and amuse 

for an hour, 
I hold all his future — his life — in my 



power 



And now, if things don't go persistently 

wrong, 
Our destinies cannot be parted for long; 
For he said he would give me his fortune 

and name, — 
Not those words, but he told me what 

meant just the same. 

So what could I do, after all, at the last, 
But just ask him to pardon my doubts in 

the past; 
For though he had been wrong, I should 

still, all the same, 
Rather take it myself than let him bear 

the blame. 

And, poor fellow! he felt so bad, I could 

not bear 
To drive him by cruelty quite to despair; 
And so, to confess the whole truth, when 

I found 
He was willing to do so himself, I came 

round! 



WOMAN. 



If two gods should play some heavenly 

match, 
And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
And Portia being one, there must be 

something else 
Pawn'd with the other; for the poor rude 

world 
Hath not her fellow. 



Vy<v 



Sn 



U0^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



YOU. 

If I could have my dearest wish fulfilled, 
And take my choice of all earth's treas- 
ures, too, 
Or choose from heaven whosoe'er I willed, 
I 'd ask for you. 

No man I 'd envy, neither low nor high, 
Nor king in castle old or palace new; 
I 'd hold (xonconda's mines less rich than I, 
If I had you. 

Toil and privation, poverty and care, 

Undaunted I'd defy, nor fortune woo, 
Having my wife, no jewels else I 'd wear, 
If she were you. 

Little I 'd care how lovely she might be, 
How? graced with every charm, how 
fond, how true, 
E'en though perfection, she 'd be naught 
to me, 

Were she not you. 

There is more charm for my true loving 
heart, 
In everything you think, or say, or do, 
Than all the joys that heaven could e'er 
impart, 

Because it 's you. 



MISS MINERVA'S DISAPPOINT- 
MENT. 

Yes, Debby, 'twas a disappointment; and 

though, of course, I try 
To look as ef I did n't mind it, I would n't 

tell you a lie. 
Ye.see, he 'd been a-comin' stiddy, and our 

folks sez, sez they, 
" It 's you, Minervy, that he 's arter; he 's 

sure to pop some day." 

He 'd walk in with the evenin' shadders, 

set in that easy chair, 
And praise my doughnuts, kinder sighin' 

about a bachelor's fare. 
And then his talk was so improvin' ; he 

made the doctrines plain, 





And when he 'd pint a moral, allers looked 

straight at Mary Jane. 
She 'd laugh, and give sech silly answers 

that no one could approve; 
But, law! the men can't fool me Debby — 

it is n't sense they love. 

It 's rosy cheeks, and eyes a-sparklin'. 

Yes, yes, you may depend 
That when a woman's smart and handy, 

knows how to bake and mend, 
And keep her house and husband tidy, 

why, the fools will pass her by, 
Bekase she 's spent her youth a-learnin' 

their wants to satisfy. 

Now Mr. Reed was allers talkin' of what 

a wife should be, 
So, Debby, was it any wonder I thought 

his hints meant me? 
And then when Mary Jane would giggle, 

and he would turn so red, 
Could you have guessed that they was 

courtin', when not a word was said? 

It all came out at last so sudden. 'T was 

Wednesday of last week, 
When Mr. Reed came in quite flustered. 

Thinks I, "He means to speak." 
I'll own my heart beat quicker, Debby; 

for though, of course, it 's bold 
To like a man before he offers, I thought 

him good as gold. 

Well, there we sot. I talked and waited; 

he hemmed and coughed awhile. 
He seemed so most oncommon bashful, I 

couldn't help but smile. 
I thought about my pine-tar balsam, that 

drives a cough away, 
And how, when we was fairly married, 

I 'd dose him every day. 

Just then he spoke: "Dear Miss Min- 
ervy, you must hev seen quite plain 

That I 'm in love — " " I hev," I answered. 
Sez he, "with Mary Jane." 

"What did I do?" I nearly fainted, 
't was such a cruel shock, 

Yet there I had to set, as quiet as ef I 
was a rock, 





A JJOOK OF POEMS 




And hear about her " girlish sweetness," 
and " buddin' beauty " too. 

Don't talk to me of martyrs, Debby, I 
know what I 've gone through. 

Well, that 's the end. The weddin's set- 
tled for June; he 's in such haste. 

I 've given her the spreads I quilted, so 
they won't go to waste. 

I 'd planned new curtains for his study, 

all trimmed with bands of blue. 
I 'm sure her cookin' never '11 suit him — 

he's fond of eatin', too. 
Well, no, I wa'n't at meetin' Sunday. I 

don't find Mr. Reed 
Is quite as edifyin' lately; he can't move 

me, indeed. 

And, Debby, when you see how foolish a 

man in love can act, 
You can't hev sech a high opinion of him, 

and that 's a fact. 
"I don't look well?" Spring weather, 

mebbe; it's gittin' warm, you 
know. 
Good-bye; I'm goin' to Uncle Jotham's, 

to stay a week or so. 



SOMETIME. 



"Sometime," the blue-eyed maiden cried, 
" Sometime I' 11 be a rich man's bride, 

I'll have his gold when he is old, 
And grandly in a coach I' 11 ride." 

" Sometime, " the brown-eyed maiden 
cried, 

And blushing turned her face aside, 
"God grant it me! I'll married be 

To him whom heaven shall provide." 

The blue-eyed maiden had her way; 

She married one both rich and gray, 
And when he died she took his pride, 

But that is all she took — they say. 

A handsome lover came one day 

And bore the brown-eyed maid away; 

He was her life and she — his wife; 
What more is there to ask or say? 




ANNABEL LEE. 

For the moon never beams without bring- 
ing me dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And the stars never rise but I see the 
bright eyes 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 



MUSIC. 



If music be the food of love, 
Play on! 



MISCHIEF MAKERS. 

Oh, could there in this world be found 
Some little spot of happy ground, 
Where village pleasures might go round, 

Without the village tattling! 
How doubly blest that place would be, 
Where all might dwell in liberty, 
Free from the bitter misery 

Of gossips' endless prattling. 

If such a spot were really known, 
Dame Peace might claim it as her own, 
And in it she might fix her throne, 

Forever and forever: 
There, like a queen, might reign and live, 
While every one would soon forgive 
The little slights they might receive, 

And be offended never. 

'T is mischief-makers that remove 

Far from our hearts the warmth of love, 

And lead us all to disapprove 

What gives another pleasure. 
They seem to take one's part — but when 
They 've heard our cares, unkindly then, 
They soon retail them all again, 

Mixed with their poisonous measure. 

And then they 've such a cunning way 
Of telling ill-meant tales: they say, 
"Don't mention what I've said, I pray, 

I would not tell another; — " 
Straight to your neighbor's house they go, 
Narrating everything they know; 
And break the peace of high and low, 

Wife, husband, friend and brother. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Oh, that the mischief-making crew 
Were all reduced to one or two, 
And they were painted red or blue, 

That every one might know them! 
Then would our villagers forget 
To rage and quarrel, fume and fret, 
Or fall into an angry pet, 

With things so much below them. 

For 't is a sad, degrading part, 
To make another's bosom smart, 
And plant a dagger in the heart 

We ought to love and cherish. 
Then let us evermore be found 
In cpjietness with all around, 
While friendship, joy and peace abound, 

And angry feelings perish! 



GIVE THEM NOW. 

If I should lie before you, still and white 

In death's unspoken sleep, 
Wrapt in the holy stillness of the night 

Wherein no care can creep, 
Would you not shower upon my poor 
dead face 

Sweet kisses that I crave? 
Give without stint fond words and warm 
embrace 

To take into my grave? 

give them ere I pass beyond the reach 

Of loving smile and word! 
For it may be your gift of kindly speech 

Will be too long deferred; 
One little act, though trivial it may 
seem — 

Tendered for love's sweet sake — 
Would bring my troubled life one golden 
gleam 

And soothe its weary ache. 

One tender smile — such as you used to 
give 
In other, happier days, 
(When, darling, it was, oh, so sweet to 
live) 
ould light earth's darkest ways. 




One heart-felt kiss — that I have missed 
so long — 
With its glad old-time thrills; 
One — only one — I think would make me 
strong 
To bear all earthly ills. 

The path appointed for a woman's feet, 

At best is hard and rough : 
To know that we are loved is passing 
sweet; 
But oh! 'tis not enough! 
My heart would famish withihe meager 
dole 
That you so oft bestow; 
1 know you love me, dear, with heart and 
soul! 
But, darling, tell me so. 

Am I less dear than when you loved Tme 
first? 

Less worthy of your praise? 
My craving heart is hungry and athirst 

For love's endearing ways, 
0, give them ere I pass beyond the reach 

Of loving smile and word ! 
For it may be your gift of kindly speech 

Will be too long deferred. 



WOMAN. 



Dear woman! Strange it is that she 

Such opposites involves; 
And very deep a man must be 

Who that enigma solves. 

Jnst view her as she smiling stands, 

A paradox is there; 
Look at her soft and dimpled|hands — 

Yet how she bangs her hair. 

In such arms there seems to be 
Just strength to wield a"fan; 

But still you '11 find how thoroughly 
She shakes a poor young man. 

But woman's heart is kind and warm — 
Her faults are trivial, small; 

Her beauty lends to all a charm, — 
Her love atones for all. 









j: 



\J 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



561 



% 



h 



THANATOPSIS. 

Too him who, in the love of nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she 

speaks 
A various language: for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When 

thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow 

house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at 

heart, 
Go forth under the open sky and list 
To nature's teachings, while from all 

around — 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of 

air — 
Comes a still voice, — Yet a few days, and 

thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course; nor yet in the cold 

ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many 

tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, 

shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; 
And, lost each human trace, surrender- 
ing up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements; 
To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude 

swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. 

The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce 

thy mould. 
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou 

wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie 

down 
36 



With patriarchs of the infant world, — 

with kings, 
The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the 

good, 
Fair forms, and hoai*y seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, 
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the 

vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
That make the meadows green; and, 

poured round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man! The golden 

sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of 

heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that 

tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the 

wings 
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no 

sound 
Save his own dashings, — yet the dead are 

there ! 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them 

down 
In their last sleep, — the dead reign there 

alone ! 
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou 

withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure? All that 

breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will 

laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood 

of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will 

chase 
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall 

leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and 

shall come 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




And make their bed with thee. As the 

long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 
The youth in life's green spring, and he 

who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and 

maid, 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed 

man — 
Shall, one by one, be gathered by thy side 
By those who in their turn shall follow 

them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to 

join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each 

shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at 

night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained 

and soothed 
By an unfaltering trnst, approach thy 

grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his 

couch 
About bim, and lies down to pleasant 

dreams. 



DO RIGHT. 



Do right, and on right's strength rely, 

Nor fear what will befall; 
Heaven soon or late will justify 

Thy act, and thee to all. 



DECEPTION. 



It took just a day to discover 
That all my precautions were "m7," 

I loved her — ah, how I did love her! — 
And, I must confess, love her still. 

As we walked where the moon lit the 
woolly 

White back of each incoming wave, 
She seemed to reciprocate fully 

The tender affection I gave. 




We parted. Last week she was married; 

The wedding was private and "nice." 
On leaving, the couple were harried 

With slippers and handf uls of rice. 

And now she is back in the city, 
Installed in the cosiest home, 

With a husband who thinks it a pity 
An hour from his " precious " to roam. 

And I, well, I count myself lucky, 
And need no consoling, for she — 

The dear little darling, the "ducky" — 
Was good enough to — marry me. 



WHAT I WOULD GIVE. 

If I could give you what would outlast 
time — 
Remain as fixed as Polar star above — 
Something to live and thrive in any clime, 
I 'd give my love! 

And should you ask for that more true 
than steel, 
A something of yourself a kindred part, 
My inmost thought I 'd then to thee 
reveal, 

And give my heart! 

Should friends desert you, fortune cease 
to smile; 
Should joy itself appear beyond recall, 
Your weary moments I would then be- 
guile, 

And give my all! 

But if some lofty sacrifice you 'd ask 
How glad I 'd yield me to your sweet 
control 
And give — since giving is love's sweet- 
est task, — 

My very soul! 

And 0, believe me, could I turn away 
One cruel shaft, one pang of this 
world's strife 
From your great heart, this day 
I'd give my life! 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LEND A HELPING HAND. 

Lend a helping hand, my brother, 

To the weary ones you meet, 
There are many bowed with burdens, 

Fainting in the day's fierce heat. 
Pass not by a toil-worn brother, 

Let none ask for aid in vain, 
Lend a helping hand, believing 

Time will pay you back again. 

Lend a helping hand, my brother, 

There are chances all the way; 
When you see a man discouraged, 

Have a helping word to say. 
Kindly words are balm and comfort 

To the weary, and they make 
Many a heavy load seem lighter; 

Speak them for a brother's sake. 

In the march of life, my brother, 

Willing heart and ready hand 
Make the way seem bright and pleasant 

As we journey through the land. 
Blest the hands outstretched to help us, 

With a hopeful word and smile, 
Lend a helping hand to others, 

It is grandly worth your while. 



OF HER, 



What! You would have me know? 
When doubt 's so sweet! 
Would break the magic of her soft replies, 
And lift the glamor from my happy eyes, 
And prove the cheat? 

Prove that the laughter low, 
And veiled glance, 
Have oft been studied with minutest care 
Till every lark-like note that thrills the 
air 
Her charm enhance? 

.... I fancied long ago 
Skies always blue, 
And now I know them often dark and 

drear, 
My knowledge is not any gladder, dear, 
Although more true. 





So let my trust still grow, 

Nor spoil my dream, 
I glory in the face I find so fair — 
I glory in the curling nut-brown hair 

Of sunny gleam. 

Know? 1 will never know, 
Let come what will! 
For if my faith in her be forced to die, 
I '11 swear allegiance to her memory, 
And love her still! 



THE GIRLS WE USED TO KNOW. 

Where are the girls we used to know 
In the halcyon days of long ago? 
The merry maids — the dancing elves — 
As happy as we were ourselves? 
We miss their voices from the song; 
We miss their faces from the throng; 
We miss the sweetness and delight 
That used to make the world so bright. 

Still young at heart, our hearts rebel 
At what the years and dates may tell, 
And in sweet visions wander back 
Along the well remembered track, 
And cheat ourselves in the belief 
That none have ever come to grief, 
But boy :1s walk hand in hand, 

As if in an enchanted land. 

Yet should we meet when in life's prime 
Some playmate of the olden time, 
What better memories would destroy, 
The sweetness of our cup of joy, 
And since to-morrow never gives 
True copies of those negatives 
We took in youth, we dream, and lo! 
We 're with the girls we used to know. 



"Now, then - , my hearties," said a gal- 
lant Yankee captain, seeing that his men 
were likely to be outnumbered, "you 
have a tough battle before you. Fight 
like heroes till your powder 'sgone — then 
run! I'm a little lame and I'll start 
now. 





A BOOK. OF POEMS 




KISSES. 

There 's a great deal of bliss in a linger- 
ing kiss, 

And oceans of solid rapture; 
There are lots of fun in a stolen one — 

If you are clever about the capture. 

The cutest trick in a kiss that 's quick 
Ts to put it where it belongs; 

To see that it goes below the nose 
And knocks at the gate of songs. 

A kiss that is cold may do for the old, 

Or pass with a near relation; 
But one like that is a work — that 's flat — 

Of supererogation. 

If you 're going to kiss, be sure of this — 
That the girl has got some heart in her; 

I would 't give a darn for the full of a 
barn 
Of kisses without a partner. 

The point of this rhyme is to take your 
time; 
Kiss slowly, and do it neatly; 
If you do the thing right, and are half- 
way bright, 
You can win her sweet heart completely. 



THE WANTS OP MAN. 

"Man wants but little here below, 

Nor wants that little long." 
'Tis not with me exactly so; 

But 'tis so in the song. 
My wants are many and, if told, 

Would muster many a score; 
And were each wish a mint of gold, 

I still should long for more. 

What first I want is daily bread — 
And canvas-backs — and wine — 
And all the realms of nature spread 

Before me, when 1 dine. 
Four courses scarcely can provide 

My appetite to quell; 
With four choice cooks from France 

beside, 
^> /To dress my dinner well. 



What next I want, at princely cost, 

Is elegant attire: 
Black sable furs for winter's frost, 

And silks for summer's fire, 
And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace 

My bonnet's front to deck, — 
And diamond rings my hands to grace, 

And rubies for my neck. 

I want (who does not want?) a wife, — 

Affectionate and fair; 
To solace all the woes of life, 

And all its joys to share. 
Of temper sweet, of yielding will, 

Of firm, yet placid mind, — 
With all my faults to love me still 

With sentiment refined. 

And as Time's car incessant runs, 

And fortune fills my store, 
I want of daughters and of sons 

From eight to half a score. 
I want (alas! can mortal dare 

Such bliss on earth to crave?) 
That all the girls be chaste and fair, — 

The boys all wise and brave. 

I want a warm and faithful friend, 

To cheer the adverse hour; 
Who ne'er to flatter will descend, 

Nor bend the knee to power, — 
A friend to chide me when I 'm wrong, 

My inmost soul to see; 
And that my friendship prove as strong 

For him as his for me. 

I want the seals of power and place, 

The ensigns of command; 
Charged by the People's unbought grace 

To rule my native land. 
Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask 

But from my country's will, 
By day, by night, to ply the task 

Her cup of bliss to fill. 

I want the voice of honest praise 

To follow me behind, 
And to be thought in future days 

The friend of human-kind, 
That after ages, as they rise, 

Exulting may proclaim 
In choral union to the skies 

Their blessings on my name. 



S3T- 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




These are the Wants of mortal Man,- 

I cannot want them long, 
For life itself is but a span, 

And earthly bliss — a sontr. 
My last great Want — absorbing all — 
Is, when beneath the sod, 
And summoned to my final call, 

The Mercy of my God. 



LIFE. 

Could we but blot out of our lives 

The days and hours we've spent in 
vain, 

How easily might be summed up, 
What would remain. 

But what now follows? Startling fact! 

I turn life's pages o'er and o'er, 
Each after each contains a blank, 

And nothing more. 



LAST YEAR. 



Last year he wrote: "The roses blossom 
red 
And palely white to scent the hot, still 
air, 
And then, soft springing in the garden 
bed, 
The aromatic pinks, all tall and fair, 
Nod to each other as the dawn grows clear." 
That was- last year; sad heart! that was 
last year! 

Here is the page ! as there I sadly trace 
The failing hand that pain's keen touch 
had pressed. 
I note the faltering, the increasing space, 
As if the task were hard, then longed- 
for rest 
Were yet more urgent. Ah! I sitting 

here 
Remember all this letter said last year. 

And now I rise — and wander all alone 
Beneath his roses; when wan night 
glides by 
I see the moonlight sleeping on the stone 
That marks the spot where he out there 
doth lie. 




At rest — alone — he who was once so 

dear, 
From whom that letter came; last year — 

last year! 

Is it not cruel how his roses bloom? 
How lives this lettei - , though the 
writer 's dead; 

How there last on his chair, his desk, his 
room, 
The flowers he planted — white or pink 
or red — 

While he is deaf, nor heeds each heart- 
wrung tear 

That falls as I think of him there last 
year! 

How laugh the children, gathering in the 
dusk, 
As love-gifts for each other, sacred 
leaves! — 

Sacred to me at least. That old-world 
musk 
We always gathered. God ! how mem- 
ory weaves 

Immortal spells! I feel — I see him near, 

That true, good friend God took from me 
last year! 

And yet I am alone, beyond life's pain 
That friend I loved lies silent — while 

his flowers 
Rise from the earth, and blossom once 

again 
As they did blossom in those better 

hours 
When that which is was but a haunting 

fear, 
And he was with us still; oh! sad last 

year! 

And yet! if they can spring from out the 

sod, 
Will he and I not meet and speak once 

more? 
Thou maker of our friendship, patient 

God! 
Send me one message from"" that silent 

shore ! 
Yet nothing see I, nothing can I hear, 
Save echoes faintly calling — ah! last 

vear! 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



cF& 



CONTENTMENT. 

Little I ask; my wants are few; 

I only wish a hut of stone, 
(A very plain brown stone will do,) 

That I may call my own; 
And close at hand is such a one, 
In yonder street that fronts the sun. 

Plain food is quite enough for me; 

Three courses are as good as ten; — 
If nature can subsist on three, 

Thank Heaven for three. Amen! 
I always thought cold victual nice;— 
My choice would be vanilla-ice. 

I care not much for gold or land; — 

Give me a mortgage here and there, — 
Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, 

Or trifling railroad share, — 
I only ask that Fortune send 
A little more than I shall spend. 

Honors are silly toys, I know, 

And titles are but empty names; 
I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, — 
But only near St. James; 
I 'm very sure I should not care 
To fill our Gubernator's chair. 

Jewels are bawbles; 'tis a sin 

To care for such unfruitful things; — 
One good-sized diamond in a pin, — 

Some, not so large, in rings, — 
A ruby, and a pearl or so, 
Will do for me; — I laugh at show. 

My dame should dress in cheap attire; 

(Good heavy silks are never dear;) — 
I own perhaps I might desire 

Some shawls of true Cashmere, — 
Some marrowy crapes of China silk. 
Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 

I would not have the horse I drive 

So fast that folks must stop and stare; 
An easy gait, — two, forty-five, — 
Suits me; I do not care; — 
Perhaps, for just a single spurt, 
>\Sonie seconds less would do no hurt. 



Of pictures, I should like to own 

Titans and Raphaels three or four, — 
I love so much their style and tone, — 

One Turner and no more, 
(A landscape, — foreground golden dirt, — 
The sunshine painted with a squirt). 

Of books but few, — some fifty score 
For daily use, and bound for wear; 
The rest upon an upper floor; — 

Some little luxury there 
Of red morocco's gilded gleam, 
And vellum rich as country cream. 

Busts, cameos, gems, such things as these, 

Which others often show for pride, 
I value for their power to please, 

And selfish churls deride; — 
One Stradivarius, I confess, 
Two meerschaums, I would fain possess. 

Wealth's wasteful tricks I would not learn, 

Nor ape the glittering upstart fool; — 
Shall not carved tables serve my turn, 

But all must be of buhl? 
Give grasping pomp its double share, — 
I ask but one recumbent chair. 

Thus humble let me live and die, 

Nor long for Midas' golden touch; 
If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 
I shall not miss them much, — 
Too grateful for the blessings lent 
Of simple tastes and mind content! 



THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

'T is Saturday night, and the chill rain 

and sleet 
Is swept by the wind down the long, 

dreary street; 
The lamps in the windows flicker and 

blink, 
As the wild gale whistles through cranny 

and chink; 
But round yon door huddles a shivering 

crowd 
Of wretches, by pain and by penury 

bowed; 

And oaths are muttered, and curses drop 
From their lips as they stand by the 

pawnbroker's shop. 







ncv- 






A BOOK OF POEMS 



567 



Visages, hardened and scarred by sin; 

Faces, bloated and pimpled with gin; 

Crime, with its plunder, by poverty's side; 

Beauty in ruins, and broken-down pride; 

Modesty's cheek crimsoned deeply with 
shame; 

Youth's active form, age's fast-falling 
frame, 

Have come forth from street, lane, alley — 
and stop, 

Heart-sick, weary and worn, at the pawn- 
broker's shop. 

With the rain and the biting wind chilled 

to the bone, 
Oh, how they gaze on the splendor and 



groan 



Around them, above them, wherever they 

gaze, 
There are jewels to dazzle and gold to 

amaze; 
Velvets, that tricked out some beautiful 

form ; 
Furs, that had shielded from winter and 

storm; 
Crowded with "pledges" from bottom to 

top 
Are the chests and the shelves of the 

pawnbroker's shop. 

There 's a tear in the eye of yon beautiful 

girl 
As she parts with a trinket of ruby and 

pearl ; 
Once as red were her lips, and as pure 

was her brow, 
But there came a destroyer, and what is 

she now? 
Lured by liquor, she bartered the gem of 

her fame, 
And abandoned by virtue, forsaken by 

shame, 
With no heart to pity, no kind hand to 

prop, 

She finds her last friend in the pawn- 
broker's shop. 

The spendthrift, for gold that to-morrow 

will fly ; 
The naked, to eke out a meagre supply ; 
The houseless, to rake up sufficient to 

keep 



His head from the stones through the 

season of sleep ; 
The robber, his booty to turn into gold; 
The shrinking, the timid, the bashful, 

the bold ; 
The penniless drunkard, to get "one 

more drop," 
All seek a resource in the pawnbroker's 

shop. 

'Tis a record of ruin, — a temple whose 

stones 
Are cemented with blood, and whose 

music is groans ; 
Its pilgrims are children of want and 

despair ; 
Alike grief and guilt to its portals repair. 
Oh ! we need not seek fiction for records 

of woe ; 
Such are written too plainly wherever 

we go; 
And sad lessons of life may be learned as 

we stop 
Near the three golden balls of a pawn- 
broker's shop. 



MAN. 

What a queer combination of cheek and 

perversity, 
Insolence, pride, gab, impudence, vanity, 
Jealousy, hate, scorn, baseness, insanity, 
Honor, truth, wisdom, virtue, urbanity, 
Is that whimsical biped called man! 

Who can fathom the depths of his innate 
depravity ? 

To-day he 's all gayety, to-morrow all 
gravity, 

For blowing his own horn he has a pro- 
pensity, 

Even under clouds of singular density, 
Oh, mystical clay-bank called man. 

He can be the source of beastly brutality, 
Be modest and meek, or indulge in 

hilarity, 
Don airs and graces of saintly totality, 
Or equal the devil in daring rascality, 
This curious enigma called man. 




m 



568 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






"I SHALL BE OBLIGED TO WAIT." 

In the darkness of winter I can wait for 

the spring, 
Till the snows melt away and the sweet 

bluebirds sing, 
I can wait for the tide of events on the 

sea 
Of the inconstant world, but I die to see 

thee. 

In the hot sultry summer I can wait for 

the rain; 
I can wait till the clouds pour their drops 

on the grain; 
I can wait for my lot, whate'er it may be, 
But how can I wait till my eyes shall see 

thee? 

I can fight the dark wave of doubt and 

despair, 
And conquer my foes by the weapon of 

prayer; 
I can wait days and months any other to 

see, 
But I faint when 1 think I must wait to 

see thee. 

I can wait for the pleasure that others 

can give, 
And, if need be, without them I ever 

. could live; 
But to kneel at thy feet for one moment 

would be 
More precious than months spent with 

any but thee. 

The music of earth brings a sad, painful 

spell 
O'er the depths of my soul, as its plaintive 

notes tell 
Of the dreams that are past when 't was 

whispered to me, 
" I am thine, only thine, I can only love 

thee." 

I must wait, oh ! sad word, indescribably 

sad, 
Can I wait, sigh and weep till thy smiles 

make me glad, 
Will thy heart ever feel the strange 

throbbing of mine, 
As thy soft, sad, sweet voice whispers 

u M is thine." 



But why do I muse till my soul fills with 

pain, 
For it may be I never shall see thee again; 
But wherever I am, on the land or the 

sea, 
Let me say, darling M , I love only 

thee. 



A PREDICAMENT. 

To a country maiden pretty 

I 'm engaged, 
But my mind is — more 's the pity- 

Not assuaged. 

For I Ve other maidens courted, 
Have with dozens oft consorted, 
And she '11 be, when it 's reported, 
Much enraged. < 

Now, my dainty little Kittie 

Soon will be 
On a visit to the city, 

So you see 
I am greatly agitated, 
And it may as well be stated, 
How to keep them separated 

Worries me. 



A STORY OF CHINESE LOVE. 

The festive Ah Goo 

And Too Hay, the fair — 

They met, and the two 
Concluded to pair. 

They " spooned " in the way 

That most lovers do, 
And Ah Goo kissed Too Hay, 

And Too Hay kissed Ah Goo. 

Said the festive Ah Goo, 

As his heart swelled with pride, 
" Me heep likee you — 

You heep be my blide ? " 

And she looking down, 
All so modest and pretty, 

1 Twixt a smile and a frown, 
Gently murmured, u You bette." 



KJ> 



A HOOK OF POEMB 



569 



i 



"I wantsch to schipp in the Lucilla," 
said a Dutchman to the clerk of a ship- 
ping office. " Well, said the clerk, pen 
in hand, "what's your name?" "It is 
Hans Vanasmananderdaunsevaneymend- 
eymiteheitenschupmenfeldmitdeschupon- 
eridromp!" said Duchy, gravely ejecting 
his old quid and taking a fresh one. 
"Heavens!" said the clerk, "do you know 
what it is in English?'' "Yaw, ich does. 
It is Von Sniidt." 



AT LIST. 



When on my day of life the night is fall- 
in or 
And in the winds from unsunned 
spaces blown, 
I hear far voices out of darkness calling 
My feet to paths unknown. 

Be near me when all else is from me drift- 
ing; 
Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of 
shade and shine, 
And kindly faces to my own, uplifting 
The love which answers mine. 



CONTENTATION.. 

Heaven, what an age is this! what race 
Of giants are sprung up, that dare 

Thus fly in the Almighty's face, 
And with his providence make war! 

I can go nowhere but I meet 

With malcontents and mutineers, 

As if in life was nothing sweet, 

And we must blessings reap in tears. 

senseless man! that murmurs still 
-For happiness, and does not know, 

Even though he might enjoy his will, 
What he would have to make him so. 

Is it true happiness to be 

By undiscerning Fortune placed 

In the most eminent degree, 
Where few arrive, and none stand fast ? 



Titles and wealth are Fortune's toils, 
Wherewith the vainthemselvesinsnare; 

The great, are proud of borrowed spoils, 
The miser's plenty breeds his care. 

The one supinely yawns at rest, 
The other eternally doth toil; 

Each of them equally a beast, 

A pampered horse or laboring moil: 

The titulados oft disgraced 

By public hate or private frown, 

And he whose hand the creature raised 
Has yet a foot to kick him down. 

The drudge who would all get, all save, 
Like a brute beast, both feeds and lies; 

Prone on the earth, he digs his grave, 
And in the very labor dies. 

Excess of ill-got, ill-kept pelf 

Does only death and danger breed; 

Whilst one rich worldling starves himself 
With what would thousand others feed. 

By which we see that wealth and power, 
Although they make men rich and 
great, 

The sweets of life do often sour, 
And gull ambition with a cheat. 

Nor is he happier than these, 

Who, in a moderate estate, 
Where he might safely live at ease, 

Has lusts that are immoderate. 

For he, by those desires misled, 

Quits his own vine's securing shade, 

To expose his naked, empty head 

To all the storms man's peace invade. 

Nor is he happy who is trim, 
Tricked up in favors of the fair, 

Mirrors, with every breath made dim, 
Birds, caught in every wanton snare. 

Woman, man's greatest woe or bliss, 
Does oftener far than serve, enslave 

And with the magic of a kiss 

Destroys whom she was made to save. 



570 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




fruitful grief, the world's disease! 

And vainer man, to make it so, 
Who gives his miseries increase 

By cultivating his own woe. 

There are no ills hut what we make 
By giving shapes aud names to things,- 

Which is the dangerous mistake 
That causes all our sufferings. 



We call that sickness which is health, 
That persecution which is grace, 

That poverty which is true wealth, 
And that dishonor which is praise. 

Alas! our time is here so short 

That in what state soe'er 'tis spent, 

Of joy or woe, does not import, 
Provided it be innocent. 

But we may make it pleasant too, 
If we will take our measures right, 

And not what Heaven has done undo 
By an unruly appetite. 

The world is full of beaten roads; 

But yet so slippery withal, 
That where one walks secure 'tis odds 

A hundred and a hundred fall. 

Untrodden paths are then the best, 
Where the frequented are unsure; 

And he comes soonest to his rest 

Whose journey has been most secure. 

It is content alone that makes 
Our pilgrimage a pleasure here; 

And who buys sorrow cheapest takes 
An ill commodity too dear. 



THE LESSON. 

The lesson is as plain as day, 

A cloud may rise above your way, 

The sunshine is behind it; 
When things go wrong and others frown, 
Just put all vain repining down, 

And play you do not mind it. 



A countryman" at the exhibition stood 
for some time very attentively surveying 
a cane-seat chair. At length he said, " I 
wonder what chap took enough pains to 
find all them holes, and put that straw 
around them!" 



I CANNOT FORGET HIM. 

I cannot forget him! I 've locked up my 

soul; 
But not till his image deep, deep in it 

stole. 
1 cannot forget him! The future can 

cast 
No flowers before me so sweet as the past. 

I cannot forget him, I try to be gay; 
To quell the wild sorrow that rises alway; 
But wilder and darker it swells as I try, 
If heaven could forget him, ah! never 
can I. 



THE TRUE LOVER. 

Do you ask me, starry eyes, 

To describe the lover true? 
Wonder not at my surprise — 

Who should know as well as you? 
Think of all that you have seen, 
All the lovers that have been; 
He is true whose love is shown 
For her sake and not his own. 

This is the true lover sweet — 

Love, as ever, I am true; 
For my love is all complete 

Perfect since it comes from you. 
Darling yet 'tis not true — no! 
For I would not let you go; 
I must keep you where you 've grown, 
For my sake and not your own. 



For your own, because I love 
More than any other can; 

More than ever love could move 
Heart of any former man. 

Look at me, and then agree 

None have ever loved like me; 

For whatever I may do, 

Is because I live in you. 



W 1 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE PILOT'S STORY. 

It was a story the pilot told, with his 

back to his hearers, — 
Keeping his hand on the wheel and his 

eye on the globe of the jack-staff. 
Holding the boat to the shore and out of 

the sweep of the current, 
Lightly turning aside for the heavy logs 

of the drift-wood, 
Widely shunning the snags that made us 

sardonic obeisance. 
All the soft, damp air was full of delicate 

perfume 
From the young willows in bloom on 

either bank of the river, — 
Faint, delicious fragrance, trancing the 

indolent senses 
In a luxurious dream of the river and 

land of the lotus. 

Not yet out of the west the roses of sun- 
set are withered ; 
In the deep blue above light clouds of 

gold and of crimson 
Floated in slumber serene, and the rest- 
less river beneath them 
Rushed away to the sea with a vision of 

rest in its bosom. 
Far on the eastern shore lay dimly the 

swamps of the cypress ; 
Dimly before us the islands grew from 

the river's expanses, — 
Beautiful, wood-grown isles, — with the 

gleam of the swart inundation 
Seen through the swaying boughs and 

slender trunks of their willows ; 
And on the shore beside us the cotton 

trees rose in the evening, 
Phantom-like, yearningly, wearily, with 

the inscrutable sadness 
Of the mute races of trees. While 

hoarsely the steam from its 'scape 

pipes 
Shouted, then whispered a moment, then 

shouted again to the silence. 
Trembling through all her frame with 

the mighty pulse of her engines, 
Slowly the boat ascended the swollen and 

broad Mississippi, 
Bank-full, sweeping on, with nearing 

masses of drift-wood, 
jjf 



Daintily breathed about with hazes of 
silvery vapor, 

Where in his arrowy flight the twitter- 
ing swallow alighted, 

And the belated blackbird paused on the 
way to its nestlings. 

It was the pilot's story: — "They both 

came aboard there, at Cairo, 
From a New Orleans boat, and took pas- 
sage with us for St. Louis. 
She was a beautiful woman, with just 

enough blood from her mother, 
Darkening her eyes and her hair, to make 

her race known to a trader : 
You would have thought she was white. 

The man was with her, — you see 

such, — 
Weakly good-natured and kind, and 

weakly good-natured and vicious. 
Slender of body and soul, fit neither for 

loving nor hating. 
I was a youngster then, and only learn- 
ing the river, — 
Not over fond of the wheel. I used to 

watch them at monte, 
Down in the cabin at night, and learned 

to know all of the gamblers. 
So when I saw this weak one staking his 

money against them. 
Betting upon the turn of the cards, I 

knew what was coming; 
They never left their pigeons a single 

feather to fly with. 
Next day I saw them together, — the 

stranger and one of the gamblers: 
Picturesque rascal he was, with long black 

hair and moustaches, 
Black slouch hat drawn down to his eyes 

from his villainous forehead. 
On together they moved, still earnestly 

talking in whispers, 
On toward the forecastle, where sat the 

woman alone by the gangway. 
Roused by the fall of feet, she turned, 

and, beholding her master, 
Greeted him with a smile that was more 

like a wife's than another's, 
Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with 

the dread apprehension 
Always haunting the slave, fell her eye 

on the face of the gambler, 




9 



572 



A BOOK OF POEMS 







Dark and lustful and fierce and full of 

merciless cunning. 
Something was spoken so low that I could 

not hear what the words were; 
Only the woman started, and looked from 

one to the other 
With imploring eyes, bewildered hands, 

and a tremor 
All through her frame; I saw her from 

where I was standing, she shook so. 
'Say, is it so?' she cried. On the weak, 

white lips of her master 
Died a sickly smile, and he said, ' Louise, 

I have sold you. 1 
God is my judge! May I never see such 

a look of despairing, 
Desolate anguish, as that which the wom- 
an cast on her master, 
Griping her breast with her little hands, 

as if he had stabbed her, 
Standing in silence a space, as fixed as the 

Indian woman, 
Carved out of wood, on the pilot-house of 

the old Pocahontas; 
Then, with a gurgling moan, like the 

sound in the throat of the dying, 
Came back her voice, that, rising, flut- 
tered, through wild incoherence, 
Into a terrible shriek, that stopped my 

heart, while she answered: 
'Sold me? sold me? sold — And you 

promised to give me my freedom! 
Promised me for the sake of our little 

boy in Saint Louis! 
What will you say to our boy when he 

cries for me there in Saint Louis? 
What will you say to our God? — Ah, you 

have been joking, I see it! — 
No? God! God! He shall hear it— and 

all of the angels in heaven, — 
Even the devils in hell! — and none will 

believe when they hear it! 
Sold me ! ' — Fell her voice with a thrill- 
ing wail, and in silence 
Dowu she sank on the deck, and covered 

her face with her fingers." 
In his story a moment the pilot paused, 

while we listened 
To the salute of a boat, that, rounding 

the point of an island, 
Flamed toward us with fires that seemed 

to burn from the waters, 



Stately and vast and swift, and borne on 

the heart of the current. 
Then, with the mighty voice of a giant 

challenged to battle, 
Rose the responsive whistle, and all the 

echoes of island, 
Swamp-land, glade and brake replied with 

a myriad clamor, 
Like wild birds that are suddenly startled 

from slumber at midnight; 
Then were at peace once more, and we 

heard the harsh cries of the pea- 
cocks, 
Perched on a tree by a cabin-door, where 

the white-headed settler's 
White-headed children stood to look at 

the boat as it passed them, 
Passed them so near that we heard their 

happy talk and their laughter. 
Softly the sunset had faded, and now on 

the eastern horizon 
Hung, like a tear in the sky, the beautiful 

star of the evening. 



Still with his back to us standing, the 

pilot went on with his story: 
" Instantly, all the people, with looks of 

reproach and compassion, 
Flocked round the prostrate woman. The 

children cried, and their mothers 
Hugged them tight to their breasts: but 

the gambler said to the captain: 
' Put me off there at the town that lies 

round the bend of the river. 
Here, you ! rise at once, and be ready now 

to go with me.' 
Roughly he seized the woman's arm and 

strove to uplift her. 
She — she seemed not to heed him, but 

rose like one that is dreaming, 
Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted 

the steps of the gangway, 
Up to the hurricane-deck in silence, with- 
out lamentation. 
Straight to the stern of the boat, where 

the wheel was, she ran, and the 

people 
Followed her fast till she turned and stood 

at bay for a moment, 
Looking them in the face, and in the face 

of the gambler. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



573 






Not one to save her, — not one of all the 

compassionate people! 
Not one to save her, of all the pitying 

angels in heaven! 
Not one bolt of God to strike him dead 

there before her! 
Wildly she waved him back, we waited in 

silence and horror. 
Over the swarthy face of the gambler a 

pallor of passion 
Passed, like a gleam of lightning over the 

west in the night-time. 
White, she stood, and mute, till he put 

forth his hand to secure her; 
Then she turned and leaped, — in mid-air 

fluttered a moment, — 
Down there, whirling, fell, like a broken- 
winged bird from a tree-top, 
Down on the cruel wheel, that caught 

her, and hurled her, and crushed 

her, 
And in the foaming water plunged her, 

and hid her forever. 1 ' 

Still with his back to us all the pilot 
stood, but we heard him, 

Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell- 
rope to stop her. Then, turning, — 

" This is the place where it happened," 
brokenly whispered the pilot. 

" Somehow, I never like to go by here 
alone in the night-time. 11 

Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town 
that lay in the starlight, 

Cheerful with lamps. Below we could 
hear them reversing the engines, 

And the great boat glided up to the shore 
like a giant exhausted. 

Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over 
the swamps to the eastward 

Shone the full moon, and turned our far- 
trembling wake into silver. 

All was serene and calm, but the odorous 
breath of the willows 

Smote like the subtile breath of an in- 
finite sorrow upon us. 



Why is a man ascending Vesuvius like 
an Irishman trying to kiss a pretty girl? 
Because he wants to get at the cratur 1 s 
mouth. 



One day, Naisr-de-din ascended the 
pulpit of the mosque and thus addressed 
the congregation: "Oh, true believers, do 
you know what I am going to say to 
you? 11 "No, 11 responded the congrega- 
tion. "Well, then, 11 said he, "there is no 
use in my speaking to you, 11 and he came 
down from the pulpit. He went to 
preach a second lime, and asked the con- 
gregation, "Oh, true believers, do you 
know what I am going to say to you? 1 ' 
" We know, 11 replied the audience. "Ah, 
as you know, 11 said he, quitting the pul- 
pit, "why should I take the trouble of 
telling you? 11 When next he came to 
preach, the congregation resolved to try 
his powers, and when he asked his usual 
question, replied, "Some of us know, and 
some of us do not know. 11 "Very well, 1 ' 
said he, "let those who know tell those 
who do not know. 11 



FRIENDSHIP. 

Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou would'st 
be proving 

Thy strong regard for^me, 
Make me no vows, lip service is not loving, 

Let thy faith speak for]thee. 

Swear to me that nothing can^divide us, 

So little such oaths mean; 
When — when distrust and envy creep 
beside us; 

Let them not come between. 

Say not to me the depths of thy devotion 

Are deeper than the sea; 
But watch lest doubt of some ^kind emo- 
tion 

Embitter them from me. 

I 'm sick of words, they are so lightly 
spoken, 

And spoken are but air; 
I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken, 

Than list thy words so fair. 

If all the little proofs of trust'are heeded, 

If thou art alwa}^ kind; 
No sacrifice, no promise will be needed, 

To satisfy my mind. 



£ 




574 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME. 

Wko '11 press for gold this crowded street, 

A hundred years to come? 
Who'll tread yon church with willing 
feet, 

A hundred years to come? 
Pale trembling age and fiery youth, 
And childhood with his brow of truth, 
The rich and poor, on land, on sea, 
Where will the mighty millions be, 

A hundred years to come? 

We all within our graves shall sleep, 

A hundred years to come; 
No living soul for us will weep, 

A hundred years to come. 
But other men our land wiil till, 
And others then our streets will fill, 
And other words will sing as gay, 
And bright the sunshine as to-day. 

A hundred years to come. 



A wit, being told that an acquaintance 
was married, exclaimed, "I am glad to 
hear it;" but reflecting a moment he 
added, in a tone of compassion and for- 
getf ulness, " and yet I do n't know why I 
should be — he never did me any harm." 



MY CREED. 



I hold that Christian grace abounds 
Where charity is seen; that when 

We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds 
Of love to men. 

I hold all else, named piety, 

A selfish scheme, a vain pretense; 

Where centre is not, can there be 
Circumference? 

This I moreover hold, and dare 

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go, — 

Whatever things be sweet or fair, 
Love makes them so. 

Whether it be lullabies 

That charm to rest the nursing bird, 
Or that sweet confidence of sighs 

And blushes, made without a word. 




Whether the dazzling and the flush 
Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, 

Or by some cabin door, a bush 
Of ragged flowers. 

'T is not the wide phylactery, 

Nor stubborn fasts, nor stated prayers, 
That make us saints; we judge the tree 

By what it bears. 

And when a man can live apart 
From works, on theologic trust, 

I know the blood about his heart 
Is dry as dust. 



THE SURPRISE. 

" Chloris, I swear by all I ever swore, 
That from this hour I shall not love thee 

more." 
"What! Love no more? Oh why this 

alter'd vow? " 
" Because I cannot love thee more — than 



now 



LITTLE AND MUCH. 

It matters little where I was born, 
If my parents were rich or poor; 
Whether they shrank at the cold world's 
scorn, 
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure. 
But whether I live an honest man, 
And hold my integrity firm in my 
clutch, 
I tell you, my brother, plain as I am, 
It matters much. 

It matters little how long I stay 

In a world of sorrow, sin and care; 
Whether in youth I am called away, 
Or live till my bones and head are 
bare. 
But whether I do the best that I can, 
To soften the weight of adversity's 
touch, 
On the faded cheek of my fellow man, 
It matters much. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




OUT ON ACCOUNT OF A CUTTER. 

Why did we quarrel? Oh, love was it 

well 
To spoon for a year without breaking the 
spell, 
Then cause me to waver and doubt you? 
Till now, when we meet, I may not lay 
My hand on your dumb-bell clasp and say, 
" Have you matinee checks about you?" 

But you were hasty, and I was proud; 
And neither spirit as yet was cowed — 

Only a trifle mellow. 
So you left me, and I — I let you go, 
Right here in the face of a sleighing snow 

And — scratched round for another 
fellow. 

Yes, I say it now, though we meet so cold, 
With never a grin like the grins of old, 

When the world was all June butter; 
The man does n't live when the snow- 
flakes start, 
Who can hold his grip on a loving heart 

Unless he owns a cutter. 



Asr Irishman was going along the road, 
when an angry bull rushed down upon 
him, and with his horns tossed him over 
a fence. The Irishman, recovering from 
his fall, upon looking up saw the bull 
pawing and tearing up the ground (as is 
the custom of the animal when irritated), 
whereupon Pat smiling at him said, "If 
it was not for your bowing and scraping 
and your humble apologies, you brute, 
faix I should think that you had thrown 
me over this fence on purpose!" 




OWED TO THE STEEM FIRE 
ENGINE. 

Grate ingine, you have eradicated Fire 

machines 
Worked by human mussel — Grate ingine, 

You 
skwirt on tops of houses where the flames 
Protrude, and you immediately eckstin- 

guish. 
rate Ingine! 



Stupendoowus steam pump! You suck. 

You 
Draw up, and you skwirt on the raging 
and devowring elament commonly known 

as 
Fire. And you suckseat in kwenching 

the aforesede. 
Stupendoowus Steem pump! 

Mitey destroyer of ignited kumbustibuls, 

when you 
Get to a sistern, you run your sucktions in. 
Your Enjinear puts on adishional steem, 
And you proceed forthwith to darken 

down calighted matter. 
Mitey destroyer of ignited kombustibuls! 

Grand ecksterminator of blaseing mate- 
rial ! You 
Must feal prowd bekase you have plenty 
of water on hand and don't use 
Spiritous lickers — You don't work much, 
Bekause you have nothing to do. 
Grate exterminator of blaseing material! 

Wonderful Infantile Water Works! You 

have 
Superseaded the laboring efforts of inde- 
viduals to perfect hand-pumps. And you 
Now stand out in bass relievus to the 

enemy 
Of Flame. Because you always come out 

first best! 
Wonderful Infantile Water Works! 

Thou spreader of the akweous Fluid — 

You 
Know full well, your hundred of feet of 

pipe in 
Your biler, big wheals, little waives, 
&c, are death to the old fire boys and 
useful to Insurance Companies. 
Thou spreader of the akweous Fluid! 

Steem Fire Engine — your useful. You 
use wood and koal — you make 
a big noise with your whistle, and 
You leave a streak of fire behind you 
in the sfreat. But steam Fire Ingine, 

your 
Useful. Your a — a trump — Go on — 
Go on, Steam Fire Ingine. 
Go on — Grate old Skwirt! 




vv 



576 



A BOOK OF POEMS 






HUMANITY. 

The big-eyed baby, just across the way, 
Longs for the moon and reaches out to 
clasp it — 
He lunges at the crescent, cold and gray, 
And waxes wroth to find he cannot 
grasp it. 

Be hushed, oh babe, and give thy grief a 
rest — 
Better, a thousand times, for thee to 
ponder 
Upon the lacteal wealth of mother's breast 
Than reach for that vain milky way up 
yonder. 

Yet am I like this man of recent birth 
That lets a foolish disappointment fret 
it — 
Scoring the sky, I 'm reaching for the 
earth, 
And grunt and groan because I do not 
get it. 



BEFORE AND AFTER MARRIAGE. 

BEFORE. 

My Maggie! my beautiful darling! 

Creep into my arms, my sweet! 
Let me fold you again to my bosom 

So close I can hear your heart beat. 
"What! these little fingers been sewing? 

One 's pricked by the needle, I see! 
Those hands shall be kept from such 
labor 

When once they are given to me. 

All mine, little pet, I will shield you 

From trouble and labor and care; 
I will robe you like some fairy princess, 

And jewels shall gleam in your hair. 
Those slippers you gave me are perfect, 

That dressing-gown fits to a T ! 
My darling, I wonder that Heaven 

Should give such a treasure to me! 

Eight, nine, ten, eleven ! my precious, 
Time flies when I am with you ! 

It seems but a moment I 've been here, 
And now, must I say it ? Adieu ! 



AFTER. 

Oh, Mag, you are heavy! I 'm tired! 

Go sit in the rocker, I pray; 
Your weight seems a hundred and ninety 

When you plump down in that sort of 
way. 
You had better be mending^ my coat- 
sleeve, 

I've spoken about it before, 
And I want to finish this novel, 

And look over those bills from the store. 

This dressing-gown sets like the d — 1, 

These slippers run down at the heel, 

Strange nothing can ever look decent; 

I wish you could know how they feel. 
What's this bill from Green's? Why, 
surely, 
It 's not another new dress? 
Look here! I'll be bankrupt ere New 
Year, 
Or your store bills will have to grow 
less. 

Eight o'clock! Mag, sew on this button 
As soon as you finish that sleeve. 

Heigh ho! I 'm so deucedly sleepy, 
I '11 pile off to bed, I believe ! 



FLIRTING. 



To tell the plain truth in learning the 

art 
Of flirting, one injures a trifle, the heart. 



IT IS NOT WRONG. 

It is not wrong to pause and dream, 

Nor yet forbidden, 
Of jewels bright, that softly gleam, 

On sweets now hidden. 

If we but cast aside the weeds 
That blight life's bowers, 

It is not wrong for human needs 
To pluck the flowers. 

So may we turn sometimes aside, 

From ways of duty, 
And gather in this world so wide, 

Sweet gems of beauty. 








CO 

o 

m 

z 
m 



H 
N 

m 

30 
r— 
> 

z 
o 





37 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 

Alas! what errors are sometimes commit- 
ted, 

What blunders are made, what duties 
omitted, 

What scandals arise, what mischief is 
wrought, 

Through want of a moment's reflection 
and thought! 

How many a fair reputation has flown 

Through a stab in the dark from some 
person unknown; 

Or some tale spread abroad with assiduous 
care, 

When the story the strictest inspection 
would bear! 

How often rage, malice, and envy are 
found; 

How often contention and hatred abound 

Where true love should exist, and har- 
mony dwell, 

Through a misunderstanding, alas! who 
can tell? 

Mr. Ferdinand Plum was a grocer by 

trade; 
By attention and tact he a fortune had 

made; 
No tattler, or maker of mischief was he, 
But as honest a man as you 'd e'er wish to 

see. 
Of a chapel, close by, he was a deacon, 

they say, 
And a minister lived just over the way. 

Mr. Plum was retiring to rest one night, 
He had just undressed and put out the 
light, 
And pulled back the blind 
As he peeped from behind 
('Tis a custom with many to do, you'll 
find), 
When, glancing his eye, 
He happened to spy 
On the blinds on the opposite side — oh, 

fie! 
Two shadows; each movement of course 

he could see, 
And the people were quarreling evidently, 
"Well I never," said Plum, as he witness- 
ed the strife, 



"I declare 'tis the minister beating his 
wife!" 

The minister held a thick stick in his 
hand, 

And his wife ran away as he shook the 
brand, 

Whilst her shrieks and cries were quite 
shocking to hear, 

And the sounds came across most remark- 
ably clear. 

" Well, things are deceiving, 
But — 'seeing's believing,'" 
Said Plum to himself, as he turned into 
bed; 
"Now, who would have thought 
That man would have fought, 
And beaten his wife on her shoulders and 
head 
With a great big stick 
At least three inches thick? 
I am sure her shrieks quite filled me with 
dread. 
• I 've a great mind to bring 
The whole of the thing 
Before the church members, but no, I 

have read 
A proverb which says ' Least said soonest 

mended.' " 
And thus Mr. Plum's mild soliloquy 
ended. 

But, alas! Mr. Plum's eldest daughter, 

Miss Jane, 
Saw the whole of the scene, and could 

not refrain 
From telling Miss Spot, aud Miss Spot 

told again 
(Though of course in strict confidence) 

every one 
Whom she happened to know, what the 

parson had done. 
So the news spread abroad, and soon 

reached the ear 
Of the parson himself, and he traced it, 

I hear, 
To the author, Miss Jane. Jane could 

not deny, 
But at the same time she begged leave to 

defy 
The parson to prove she had uttered a lie. 




"V* 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



579 




A church meeting was called: Mr. Plum 
made a speech. 

He said, "Friends, pray listen awhile, I 
beseech. 

What my daughter has said is most cer- 
tainly true, 

For I saw the whole scene on the same 
evening too; 

But, not wishing to make an unpleasant- 
ness rife, 

I did not tell my daughter or wife. 

But of course as Miss Jane saw the whole 
of the act, 

1 think it but right to attest to the fact." 

"'Tis remarkably strange!" the parson 

replied: 
" Its plain Mr. Plum must something have 

spied; 
Though the wife-beating story of course 

is denied; 
And in that I can say 1 am grossly belied." 
While he ransacks his brain, and ponders, 

and tries 
To recall any scene that could ever give 

rise 
To so monstrous a charge, — just then his 

wife cries, 
"I have it, my love; you remember that 

night 
When I had such a horrible, terrible 

fright. 
We both were retiring that evening to 

rest, — 
I was seated, my dear, and but partly 

undressed, 
When a nasty large rat jumped close to 

my feet; 
My shrieking was heard, I suppose, in the 

street; 
You caught up the poker, and ran round 

the room, 
And at last knocked the rat, and so sealed 

its doom. 
Our shadows, my love, must have played 

on the blind; 
And this is the mystery solved, you will 

find." 

MORAL. 

Don't believe every tale that is handed 
about; 



We have all enough faults and real fail- 
ings without 

Being burdened with those of which 
there's a doubt. 

If you study this tale, I think, too, you 
will find 

That a light should be placed in the front, 
not behind; 

For often strange shadows are seen on 
on the blind. 



ARLETTE. 



The day is spent, and fields, new shorn, 

Are bright with fading sheen; 
Like blossoms left behind the corn, 

The maidens come and glean; 
Blue eyes and floating locks of gold 

Have caught you in their net; 
You smile, and call me strange and cold — 

You never knew Arlette. 

I met her when this life of mine 

Had turned from sweet to sour; 
There was no sparkle to the wine, 

No bloom upon the flower. 
I roamed away to bear alone 

The stings of vain regret; 
The grain was gone, the reapers flown, 

When first I found Arlette. 

With half her charms some girls might 
win 

A fashionable fame; 
How came she with that southern skin, 

And soft old Norman name? 
We talked, I questioned, she replied, 

Till I forgot my fret; 
For bitter thoughts and angry pride 

All fled before Arlette. 

How ends the tale ? To your surprise 

There is no end to tell! 
I left no tears in those dark eyes, 

Although I loved them well; 
Her picture hangs within my brain 

Frpsh and unsullied yet; 
No empty vows of mine shall pain 

The heart of true Arlette. 





580 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




A slave who ran away from his master 
in Virginia was set to work by General 
Butler, and made to keep at it, much to 
his annoyance, which caused him to ex- 
claim, "Golly, Massa Butler, dis nigger 
nebber had to do work so hard afore; 
guess dis chile will secede once moah." 




MOTHER'S BOY. 

He was always a gentle and .thoughtful 

lad, 
The only son that his parents had, 
And though both confessed him their 

pride and joy, 
He was really and truly his mother's boy. 

When he came from school, when he 

came from play, 
Oh! ever so many times a day, 
He would spring to her lap and seldom 

miss, 
A chance to give her a loving kiss. 

She humored and petted the little lad, 
A down-right scolding he never had; 
For him she planned and for him she 

toiled, 
And the wonder is that he was not spoiled. 

The mother-love, like a cable strong, 
Drew him away from the wicked throng, 
And made him conscious that near her 

side, 
Was the sweetest and safest place to 

abide. 

The lad grew up so his mother could 
Lean on him, in her widowhood; 
And oh! what a comfort it was and joy, 
To feel that she had such a mother-boy. 

But she still reigned in her home, and 

knew 
Her child was faithful, and fond, and 

true; 
And her staff and solace, when near life's 

span, 
Is the mother-boy, now a nice young 

man. 



LOVE. 

Why, the world are all thinking about it, 
And as for myself I can swear, 

If I fancied that heav'n were without it 
I 'd scarce feel a wish to go there. 



BETSY AND I ARE OUT. 

Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em 

good and stout, 
For things at home are cross-ways, and 

Betsy and I are out; 
We who have worked together so long as 

man and wife 
Must pull in single harness the rest of 

our nat'ral life. 

" What is the matter," says you ? I swan ! 

it's hard to tell! 
Most of the years behind us we 've passed 

by very well; 
I have no other woman — she has no 

other man; 
Only we 've lived together as long as ever 

we can. 

So I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy 

has talked with me, 
And we 've agreed together that we can 

never agree; 
Not that we 've catched each other in any 

terrible crime; 
We 've been a-gatherin' this for years, a 

little at a time. 

There was a stock of temper we both had, 

for a start, 
Although we ne'er suspected 't would take 

us two apart. 
I had my various failings, bred in the 

flesh and bone, 
And Betsy, like all good women, had a 

temper of her own. 

The first thing, I remember, whereon we 

disagreed, 
Was somethin' concerning heaven — a 

difference in our creed; 
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we 

arg'ed the thing at tea, 
And the more we arg'ed the question, the 

more we could n't agree. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 



581 






And the next day, 1 remember, was when 

we lost our cow; 
She had kicked the bucket for certain, 

the question was only — how? 
I held my opinion, and Betsy another 

had, 
And when we were done a-talkin' we 

both of us was mad. 

And the next that I remember, it started 

in a joke; 
But for full a week it lasted, and neither 

of us spoke. 
And the next was when I fretted because 

she broke a bowl, 
And she said I was mean and stingy, and 

had n't any soul. 

And so the thing kept workin', and all 

the self-same way; 
Always somethin 1 to arg'e and somethin 1 

sharp to say, — 
And down on us came" the neighbors, a 

couple o' dozen strong, 
And lent their kindest service to help the 

thing along. 

And there have been days together — and 

many a weary week — 
When both of us were cross and spunky, 

and both too proud to speak; 
And 1 have been thinkin' and thinkin' 

the whole of the summer and fall, 
If I can't live kind with a woman, why, 

then I won't at all. 

And so I 've talked with Betsy, and Betsy 

has talked with me, 
And we have agreed together that we can 

never agree; 
And what is hers shall be hers, and what 

is mine shall be mine; 
And I '11 put it in the agreement and take 

it to her to sign. 

Write on the paper, lawyer — the very 

-first paragraph — 
Of all the farm and live stock she shall 

have her half, 
For she has helped to earn it, through 

many a weary day, 
And it 's nothin 1 more than justice that 

Betsy has her pay. 




Give her the house and homestead; a 

man can thrive and roam, 
But women are wretched critters unless 

they have a home. 
And I have always determined, and never 

failed to say, 
That Betsy never should want a home if 

I was taken away. 

There 's a little hard money besides, that 's 

drawin' tol'rable pay, 
A couple of hundred dollars laid by for a 

rainy day, — 
Safe in the hands of good men, and easy 

to get at; 
Put in another clause there, and give her 

all of that. 

I see that you are smiling, sir, at my 

givin' her so much; 
Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no 

stock in such; 
True and fair I married her, when she 

was blithe and young, 
And Betsy was always good to me, ex- 

ceptin' with her tongue. 

When I was young as you, sir, and not so 
smart, perhaps, 

For me she mittened a lawyer, and sev- 
eral other chaps; 

And all of 'em was flustered, and fairly 
taken down, 

And for a time I was counted the lucki- 
est man in town. 

Once, when I had a fever — I won't for- 
get it soon — 

I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as 
a loon — 

Never an hour went by me when she was 
out of sight; 

She nursed me true and tender, and stuck 
to me day and night. 

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a 

kitchen clean, 
Her house and kitchen was tidy as any I 

ever seen; 
And I don't complain of Betsy or any of 

her acts, 
Exceptin' when we quarreled and told 

each other facts. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



So draw up the paper, lawyer, and I '11 go 

home to-night, 
And read the agreement to her and see if 

it's all right; 
And then in the mornin' I '11 sell to a 

tradin' man I know — 
And kiss the child that was left to us, 

and out in the world I '11 go. 

And one thing put in the paper, that first 

to me didn't occur: 
That, when I am dead at last, she will 

bring me back to her, 
And lay me under the maple we planted 

years ago, 
When she and I was happy, before we 

quarreled so. 

And when she dies, I wish that she would 

be laid by me; 
And lyin' together in silence, perhaps 

we'll then agree; 
And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't 

think it queer 
If we loved each other the better because 

we 've quarreled here. 



WHAT IS THE USE. 

What is the use of rushing with spent 
breath 
After old age, its furrows, its white 
hair? 
Why need we hurry so to welcome death, 
Or go half way, with hands stretched 
out to care? 

There is no use, dear heart; if we but wait, 
All things will find us; let us pause, I 
say, 
We cannot go beyond the silent gate 
That lies a short day's journey down 
the way. 

Let us take time for love and its delights, 
It is the one sweet thing that pays for 

all, 
The bitterness of life, for sorrows 
blight, 
For pain's despair, and death's funeral 
pall. 



TRUST. 



I am not wise, as one is wise — 
My richest gifts are dust! 

But I have learned how sweet it is 
To love and fully trusti 



yi 



At a crowded lecture, a young lady 
standing at the door of the church was 
addressed by an honest Hibernian, who 
was in attendance on the occasion: "In- 
dade, miss, I should be glad to give you a 
sate, but the empty ones are all full!" 



TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

I 've wandered to the village, Tom, I 've 

sat beneath the tree, 
Upon the school-house play-ground, that 

sheltered you and me; 
But none were left to greet me, Tom, and 

few were left to know, 
Who played with us upon the green, 

some twenty years ago. 

The grass is just as green, Tom; bare- 
footed boys at play 

Were sporting, just as we did then, with 
spirits just as gay. 

But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, 
which, coated o'er with snow, 

Afforded us a sliding-place, some twenty, 
years ago. 

The old school-house is altered now; the 
benches are replaced 

By new ones, very like the same our pen- 
knives once defaced; 

But the same old bricks are in the wall, 
the bell swings to and fro, 

Its music's just the same, dear Tom, t'was 
twenty years ago. 

The boys were playing some old game, 

beneath that same old tree, 
I have forgot the name just now, — you 've 

played the same with me, 
On that same spot; 'twas played with 

knives, by throwing so and so; 
The loser had a task to do, — there, twenty 

years ago. 



>4 



-a-orvt* 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



583 



The river's running just as still; the wil- 
lows on its side 

Are larger than they were, Tom; the 
stream appears less wide; 

But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, 
where once we played the beau, 

And swung our sweethearts, pretty girls, 
just twenty years ago. 

The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, 

close by the spreading beach, 
Is very low, — 't was then so high that we 

could scarcely reach; 
And, kneeling down to get a drink, dear 

Tom, I started so, 
To see how sadly I am changed, since 

twenty years ago. 

Near by that spring, upon an elm, you 

know I cut your name, 
Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, 

and you did mine the same; 
Some heartless wretch has peeled the 

bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, 
Just as she died, whose name you cut, 

some twenty years ago. 

My lids have long been dry, Tom, but 

tears came to my eyes; 
I thought of her I loved so well, those 

early broken ties. 
I visited the old church-yard, and took 

some flowers to strow 
Upon the graves of those we loved, some 

twenty years ago. 

Some are in the church-yard laid, some 

sleep beneath the sea; 
But few are left of our old class, exceptin' 

you and me. 
And when our time shall come, Tom, and 

we are called to go, 
I hope they '11 lay us where we played, 

just twenty years ago. 



Cautious Pat. — A. dying Irishman was 
asked by his confessor if he was prepared 
to renounce the devil and all his works. 
"Oh, your honor, said Pat, "don't ask 
me that; I'm going into a strange coun- 
try, and I don't want to make myself 
enemies.'' 



ONCE MORE. 

Come, old friend, speak in kindlier tone, 
Give a thought to the time gone by; 

Love and passion we too have known, 
Though you were happier far than I. 

Full fruition your path has crossed, 
Over mine must the shadows fall; 

Well, it is well to have " loved and lost,' 
Better than not to have loved at all." 



WILLIAM BROWN OP OREGON. 

They called him Bill, the hired man, 
But her, Gulnare Belinda Jane, 
The Squire's daughter; and to reign 
The belle from Ber-she-be to Dan 
Her little game. How lovers rash 
Got mittens at that spelling-school! 
How many a mute inglorious fool 
Wrote rhymes and sighed and died — 
mustache! 

This hired man had loved her long, 
Had loved her best, and first, and last. 
Her very garments, as she passed, 
For him had sympathy and song. 
So when, one day, with brow afrown, 
She called him " Bill," he raised his head; 
He caught her eye and faltering said, 
"I love you! and my name is Brown." 

She fairly waltzed with rage; she wept; 
You would have thought the house on 

fire. 
She told her sire, the portly Squire, 
Then smelt her smelling-salts and slept. 
Poor William did what could be done; 
He swung a pistol on each hip, 
He gathered up a great ox whip 
And drove toward the setting sun. 

He crossed the great backbone of earth; 
He saw the snowy mountains rolled 
Like mighty billows; saw the gold 
Of awful sunsets; felt the birth 
Of sudden dawn upon the plain; 
And every night would William Brown 
Eat pork and beans, and then lie down 
And dream of dear Belinda Jane. ~ ^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




Her lovers passed. Wolves hunt in 

packs. 
They sought for bigger game; somehow 
They seemed to see about her brow 
The forky signs of turkey tracks. 
The teeter board of life goes up; 
The teeter board of life goes down; 
The fairest face must learn to frown, 
Dregs may be in sweetest cup. 

maidens, pluck not at the air; 
The sweetest flowers I have found 
Grow rather close unto the ground, 
And highest places are most bare. 
Why, you had better win the grace 
Of one poor dark-hued Af-ri-can, 
Than win the eyes of every man 
In love alone with his own face. 

At last she nu v sed a new desire; 
She sighed, she wept for William Brown. 
She watched the splendid sun go down, 
Like some great sailing ship on fire, 
Then rose and checked her trunks right 

on, 
And on the cars she luuched and lunched, 
And had her ticket punched and punched, 
Until she came to Oregon. 

She reached the limit of the lines. 
She wore blue specs upon her nose, 
Wore rather short and manly clothes, 
And so set out to reach the mines. 
Her right hand held a Testament, 
Her pocket held a parasol, 
And thus equipped right on she went, — 
Went water-proof and water-fall. 

She met a miner gazing down, 
Slow stirring something with a spoon; 
"0 tell me true and tell me soon, 
What has become of William Brown?" 
He looked askance beneath her specs, 
Then stirred the mixture round and 

round, 
Then raised his head and sighed pro- 
found, 
And said, "He's handed in his cheeks." 

Then care fed on her damaged cheek, 
And she grew faint, did sighing Jane, 
And smelt her smelling salts in vain; 
Yet wandering on wayworn and weak, 



At last she climbed a hill alone, 
And on that hill she sat her down; 
For on that hill there stood a stone, 
And, lo! that stone read William Brown. 

" William Brown! William Brown! 
And here you rest at last," she said, 
" With this lone stone above your head, 
And forty miles from any town! 
I will plant cypress trees, I will, 
And I will build a fence around, 
And I will fertilize the ground 
With tears enough to turn a mill." 

She went and got a hired man, 
She brought him forty miles from town; 
And in the tall grass squatted down, 
And bade him build as she should plan. 
But Indian herders with their bands 
Them saw, and hurriedly they ran 
And told a bearded cattle man 
Somebody builded on his lands. 

He snatched his rifle from the rack, 

He girt himself in battle-pelt; 

He stuck two pistols in his belt. 

And mounting on his horse's back, 

He plunged ahead. But when they 

shewed 
A woman fair, about his eyes 
He pulled his hat; and he likewise 
Pulled at his beard and chewed and 

chewed. 

At last he got him down and spake: 
" lady dear! What do you here?" 
"I build a home unto my dear, 
I plant sweet flowers for his sake !" 
The bearded man threw his two hands 
Above his head, then brought them down, 
And cried, " Oh, I am William Brown, 
And this the corner-stone of my lands!" 



BEAUTIFUL SAYINGS. 

Your eyes are like the sparkling stars 
of heaven. 

Your laugh is sunlight set to music. 

Your form as beautiful as the lilies of 
the valley. 

Beautiful then: divine now. 



^ 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




THAT FACE. 

That silent, pleading face; among 
Ten thousand faces just the one 
I still shall love when all is done, 

And life lies by a harp unstrung. 

That face, like shining sheaves among; 

That face half hid 'mid sheaves of 
gold; 

That face that never can grow old; 
And yet has never been quite young. 



JOHN JENKIN'S SERMON. 

The minister said last night, says he 

"Don't be afraid of givin'; 
If your life ain't nothin' to other folks, 

Why what's the use of livin'?" 
And that's what I say to my wife, says I, 

"There's Brown, that mis'rable sinner, 
He 'd sooner a beggar would starve, than 
give 
A cent towards buyin' a dinner." 

I tell you our minister's pi'ime, he is, 

But I could n't quite determine, 
When I heard him givin' it right and 
left, 

Just who was hit by the sermon. 
Of course there could n't be no mistake, 

When he talked of long-winded prayin', 
For Peters and Johnson they sot and 
scowled 

At every word he was sayin'. 

And the minister he went on to say, 

"There's various kinds of cheatin', 

And religion's as good for every day 

As it is to bring to meetin'. 
I don't think much of a man that gives 

The loud Amens at the preachin', 
And spends his time the followin' week 

In cheatin' and overreachin'." 

I guess that dose was bitter 

For a man like Jones to s waller; 

But I noticed he didn't open his mouth, 
Not once, after that, to holler. 

Hurrah, says I, for the minister — 
Of course I said it quiet — 

Give us some more of this open talk; 
very refreshin' diet. 




The minister hit 'em every time; 

And when he spoke of the fashion, 
And a-riggin' out in bows and things, 

As woman's rulin' passion, 
And a-comin' to church to see the styles, 

I couldn 't help a-winkin' 
And a-nudgin' my wife, and says I, 
"That's you," 

And I guess it sot her thinkin'. 

Says I to myself, that sermon's pat; 

But man is a queer creation; 
And I'm much afraid that most o' the 
folks 

Would 't take the application. 
Now, if he had said a word about 

My personal mode o' sinnin', 
I'd have gone to work to right myself, 

And not set there a-grinnin'. 

Just then the minister says, says he, 
" And now I 've come to the fellers 
Who've lost this shower by usin' their 
friends 
As a sort o' moral umbrellers. 
Go home," says he, "and find your faults, 

Instead of huntin' your brothers'; 
Go home," he says, "and wear the coats 
You 've tried to fit the others." 

My wife she nudged, and Brown he 
winked, 

And there was lots o' smilin', 
And lots o' lookin' at our pew; 

It sot my blood a-bilin'. 
Says I to myself, our minister 

Is getting a little bitter; 
I'll tell him when meetin's out, that I 

Ain't at all that kind of a critter. 



FOGG. 



Mr. Fogg on being asked one day his 
idea of the best remedy for polygamy, 
promptly replied, " Mrs. Fogg." 



SOMETIME. 



Say not the Father hath not heard your 

prayer; 
You shall have your desire sometime, 

somewhere. 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




SMALL BEGINNINGS. 

A traveler through a dusty road strewed 

acorns on the lea, 
And one took root and sprouted up, and 

grew into a tree. 
Love sought its shade, at evening time, to 

breathe its early vows; 
And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to 

bask beneath its boughs; 
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, 

the birds sweet music bore; 
It stood a glory in its place, a blessing 

evermore. 

A little spring had lost its way amid the 

grass and fern, 
A passing stranger scooped a well, where 

weary men might turn; 
He walled it in, and bung with care a 

ladle at the brink; 
He thought not of the deed he did, but 

judged that toil might drink. 
He passed again, and lo! the well, by 

summers never dried, 
Had cooled ten thousand parching 

tongues, and saved a life beside. 

A dreamer dropped a random thought; 

't was old, and yet 't was new; 
A simple fancy of the brain, but strong 

in being true. 
It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its 

light became 
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory 

flame. 
The thought was sraall; its issue great; 

a watchfire on the hill; 
It sheds its radiance far adown, and cheers 

the valley still! 



A nameless man, amid a crowd that 
thronged the daily mart, 

Let fall a word of Hope and Love, un- 
studied, from the heart; 

A whisper on the tumult thrown, — a 
transitory breath, — 

It raised a brother from the dust; it saved 
a soul from death. 

Ogerm! fount! word of love! 
thought at random cast! 

Ye were but little at the first, but mighty 
n\ _ at the last. 

P 



RELIGIOUS PEOPLE. 

They make religion be abhorred 
Who round with darkness gulf her, 

And think no word can please the Lord, 
Unless it smells of sulphur. 



YESTERDAY. 



The tender eyes that smiled in mine, 
If those dear eyes again might shine, 
And I might find along the way, 
The friend that loved me yesterday. 



QUACK MEDICINES. 

But now our quacks are gamesters, and 

they play 
With craft and skill to ruin and betray; 
With monstrous promise they delude the 

mind, 
And thrive on all that tortures human- 
kind. 
Void of all honor, avaricious, rash, 
The daring tribe compound their boasted 

trash, — 
Tincture or syrup, lotion, drop or pill ; 
All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill; 
And twenty names of cobblers turned to 

squires 
Aid the bold language of these blushless 

liars. 
There are among them those who cannot 

read, 
And yet they '11 buy a patent, and succeed; 
Will dare to promise dying sufferers aid, 
For who, when dead, can threaten oi 

upbraid ? 
With cruel avarice still they recommend 
More draughts, more syrup, to the jour- 
ney's end. 
"I feel it not." — "Then take it every 

hour." 
"It makes me worse." — "Why, then it 

shows its power." 
"I fear to die." — " Let not your spirits 

sink, 
You 're always safe while you believe and 

drink." 
How strange to add, in this nefarious 

trade, 










A BOOK OF POEMS 



587 



That men of parts are dupes by dunces 


Suppose the case surpasses human skill, 


made: 


There comes a quack to flatter weakness 


That creatures nature meant should clean 


still; 


our streets 


What greater evil can a flatterer do, 


Have purchased lands and mansions, 


Than from himself to take the sufferer's 


parks and seats; 


view? 


Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they 


To turn from sacred thoughts his reason- 


leave 


ing powers, 


Their untaught sons their parents to 


And rob a sinner of his dying hours? 


deceive; 


Yet this they dare, and, craving to the 


And when they 're laid upon their dying 


last, 


bed, 


In hope's sti'ong bondage hold their victim 


No thought of murder comes into their 


fast: 


head. 


For soul or body no concern have they, 


And then in many a paper through the 


All their inquiry, "Can the patient pay? 


year, 


And will he swallow draughts until his 


Must cures and cases, oaths and proofs, 


dying day?" 


appear; 


Observe what ills to nervous females 


Men snatched from graves as they were 


flow, 


dropping in, 


When the heart flutters and the pulse is 


Their lungs coughed up, their bones 


low; 


pierced through their skin; 


If~once induced these cordial sips to try, 


Their liver all one scirrhus, and the frame 


All feel the ease, and few the danger fly; 


Poisoned with evils which they dare not 


For, while obtained, of drams they 've all 


name; 


the force, 


Men who spent all upon physician's fees, 


And when denied, then drams are the 


Who never slept, nor had a moment's ease, 


resource. 


Are now as roaches sound, and all as brisk 


Who would not lend a sympathizing 


as bees. 


sigh, 


Troubled with something in your bile 


To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry? 


or blood, 


Then the good nurse (who, had she borne 


You think your doctor does you little 


a brain, 


good; 


Had sought the cause that made her babe 


And, grown impatient, you require in 


complain) 


haste 


Has all her efforts, loving soul ! applied 


The nervous cordial, nor dislike the taste; 


To set the cry, and not the cause aside; 


It comforts, heals, and strengthens; nay, 


She gave her powerful sweet without 


you think 


remorse, 


It makes you better every time you drink; 


The sleeping cordial, — she had tried its 


Who tipples brandy will some comfort 


force, 


feel, 


Repeating oft ; the infant, freed from 


But will he to the medicine set his seal? 


pain, 




Rejected food, but took the dose again, 


No class escapes them — from the poor 


Sinking to sleep, while she her joy ex- 


man's pay 


pressed, 


The nostrum takes no trifling part away; 


That her dear charge could sweetly take 


See! those square patent bottles from the 


his rest. 


shop 


Soon may she spare her cordial; not a 


Now decoration to the cupboard's top; 


doubt 


And there a favorite hoard you '11 find 


Remains but quickly he will rest without. 


within, 


What then our hopes? — perhaps there 


Companions meet! the julep and the gin. 


may by law 






v$£ 



3&t 



^88 



A BOOK OF POEMS 




Be method found these pests to curb and 

awe; 
Yet, iu this land of freedom, law is slack 
With auy being to commence attack: 
Then let us trust to science, — there are 

those 
Who can their falsehoods and their frauds 

disclose, 
All their vile trash detect, and their low 

tricks expose. 
Perhaps their numbers may in time con- 
found 
Their arts, — as scorpions give themselves 

the wound; 
For when these curers dwell in every 

place, 
While of the cured we not a man can 

trace, 
Strong truth may then the public mind 

persuade, 
And spoil the fruits of this nefarious 

trade. 



" Massa says you must sartain pay de 
bill to-day," said a negro to a New Or- 
leans shopkeeper. " Why, he is n't afraid 
I'm sroing to run away, is he?" was the 
reply. Not e'zactly dat; but look ahee," 
said the darkey, slily and mysteriously, 
"he's gwine to run away heself, and 
darfor wants to make a big raise." 



GIVE US A CALL. 

Give us a call; we keep good beer, 
Wine and brandy and whisky here; 
Our doors are open to boys and men, 
And even to women, now and then; 
We lighten their purses, we taint their 

breaths, 
We swell up the columns of awful 

deaths; 
All kinds of crimes we sell for dimes 
In our sugared poisons, so sweet to the 

taste. 
If you 've money, position, or time to 

waste, 

Give us a call ! 



Give us a call. In a pint of gin 

We sell more wickedness, shame and sin 

Than a score of clergymen, preaching all 

day 
From dawn to darkness, could preach 

away; 
And in our beer, though it may take 

longer 
To make a man drunk than drinks that 

are stronger, 
We sell you poverty, sorrow and woe: 
Who wants to purchase? Our prices are 

low. 

Give us a call! 

Give us a call ! We '11 dull your brains, 
We'll give you headaches and racking 

pains, 
We'll make you old while yet you are 

young, 
To lie and slander we'll train up your 

tongue. 
We '11 make you a shirk from all useful 

work, 
Make theft and forgery seem but fair 

play, 
And murder a pastime on your dark way. 
Give us a call! 



Give us a call! We are cunning and 

wise, 
We 're bound to succeed, for we advertise 
In the family papers, the journals that 

claim 
To be upright in morals, and fair of fame; 
Husbands and brothers and sons will read 
Our kind invitations, and some will heed. 
Give us a call! 



Give us a call ! For we always buy 

The space in the paper we occupy; 

And there 's little in life that money '11 

not buy. 
If you would go down in the world, and 

not up, 
If you would be slain by the snake in the 

cup, 
Or lose your soul in the flowing bowl, 
If you covet shame and a blasted name, 
Give us a call! 



^ 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



!>S9 






SONG FOR THE DISCONTENTED. 

Though your heart be very plain, 
Do not, if you 're wise, complain; 

Not a home on earth is always glad, 
But though it may have its care, 
Home 's a full cup everywhere, 

And you '11 know its value when you 've 
lost it, lad. 

If you 've got a trusty friend, 
On whose love you can depend, 

It wont pay you all his failings up to 
add; 
Love with gold you cannot buy; 
Little faults pass kindly by; 

You '11 never know his value till you 've 
lost him, lad. 

Though the wife may frown a bit, 
Though she has the ready wit, 

Oft to say a word or two that makes 
you sad: 
Yet if she be good and true, 
Bear with her what e'er you do, 

You '11 never know her value till you 've 
lost her, lad. 



LIFE. 



Above us a passion flower opens the sky, 
And earth in its languor half closes its 

eye; 
For hours are but cloud-drifts that 

silently fly, 
And love is a vision, and life is a lie. 



I THINK OF THEE. 

I think of thee, when eve's last blush, 

Falls mournfully on heart and eye; 
Of thee, when morn's first glories gush, 

In gold and crimson o'er the sky: 
My thoughts are thine — mid toil and 
strife, 

Thine, when from all life's perils free; 
Ay, thine — forever thine — my life 

Is but a living thought of thee. 

5r82 



THE BIRTH OF SAINT PATRICK. 

On the eighth day of March it was, some 

people say, 
That Saint Patrick, at midnight, he first 

saw the day; 
While others declare 'twas the ninth he 

was born, 
And 't was all a mistake between mid- 
night and morn; 
For mistakes will occur in a hurry and 

shock, 
And some blamed the baby and some 

blamed the clock — 
Till with all their cross-questions, sure, 

no one could know 
If the child was too fast, or the clock 

was too slow. 

Now the first faction-fight in owld Ire- 
land, they say, 
Was all on account . of Saint Patrick's 

birthday. 
Some fought for the eighth, — for the 

ninth some would die, 
And who would n't see right, sure, they 

blackened his eye! 
At last, both the factions so positive 

grew, 
That each kept a birthday, so Pat then 

had two, 
Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them 

their sins,' 
Said, "No one could have two birthdays, 

but a twins." 

Says he, " Boys, don't be fightin' for eight 

or for nine, 
Don't be always dividin', but sometimes 

combine; 
Combine eight with nine, and seventeen 

is the mark, 
So let that be his birthday," — "Amen," 

says the clerk. 
"If he wasn't a twins, sure our history 

will show 
That, at least, he 's worthy any two saints 

that we know!" 
Then they all got blind dhrunk, which 

complated their bliss, 
And we keep up the practice from that 

day to this. 




1 590 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



cm 



kP 



RHCECUS. 

A youth named Rhoecus, wandering in 

the wood, 
Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, 
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 
He propped its gray trunk with admiring 

care, 
And with a thoughtless footstep loit- 
ered on. 
But, as he turned, he heard a voice be- 
hind 
That murmured " Rhoecus ! " 'T was as if 

the leaves, 
Stirred by a passing breath, had mur- 
mured it, 
And, while he paused bewildered, yet 

again 
It murmured "Rhoecus! 1 ' softer than a 

breeze. 
He started, and beheld, with dizzy eyes, 
What seemed the substance of a happy 

dream 
Stand there before him, spreading a warm 

glow 
Within the green glooms of the shadowy 

oak. 
It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too 

fair 
To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
For any that were wont to mate with 

gods. 
All naked, like a goddess, stood she there, 
And, like a goddess, all too beautiful 
To feel the guilt-born earthliness of 

shame. 
"Rhoecus, I am the Dryad of this tree," 
Thus she began, dropping her low-toned 

words, 
Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of 

dew, 
"And with it I am doomed to live and 

die; 
The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 
Nor have I other bliss than simple life; 
Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can 

give, 
And with a thankful heart it shall be 

thine." 
Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the 

heart, 
Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, 

bold, 



Answered: " What is there that can sat- 
isfy 
The endless craving of the soul but love? 
Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
Which must be evermore my spirit's 

goal." 
After a little pause she said again, 
But with a glimpse of sadness in her 

tone, 
"I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous 

gift; 
An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
And straightway there was nothing he 

could see 
But the green glooms beneath the shad- 
owy oak, 
And not a sound came to his straining 

ears 
But the low, trickling rustle of the leaves, 
And far away, upon an emerald slope, 
The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 



Young Rhoecus had a faithful heart 
enough, 

But one that in the present dwelt too 
much, 

And, taking with blithe welcome what- 
soe'er 

Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in 
that, 

Like the contented peasant of a vale, 

Deemed it a world, and never looked be- 
yond. 

So, haply meeting in the afternoon 

Some comrades, who were playing at the 
dice, 

He joined them, and forgot all else be- 
side. 

The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
And Rhoecus, who had met but sorry luck, 
Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, 
When through the room there hummed a 

yellow bee, 
That buzzed about his ear with down- 
dropped legs, 
As if to light. And Rhoecus laughed and 

said, 
Feeling how red and flushed he was with 

loss, 
"By Venus! does he take me for arose 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



591 






And brushed him off with rough, impa- 
tient hand. 
But still the bee came back, and thrice 

again 
Rhcecus did beat him off with growing 

wrath. 
Then through the window flew the 

wounded bee, 
And Rhoecus, tracking him with angry 

eyes, 
Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 
Against the red disk of the setting sun, — 
And instantly the blood sank from his 

heart, 
As if its very walls had caved away. 
Without a word he turned, and, rushing 

forth, 
Ran madly through the city and the gate, 
And o'er the plain, which now the wood's 

long shade, 
By the low sun thrown forward broad 

and dim, 
Darkened wellnigh unto the city's wall. 
Quite spent and out of breath he 

reached the tree, 
And, listening fearfully, he heard once 

more 
The low voice murmur " Rhcecus! " close 

at hand: 
Whereat he looked around him, but could 

see 
Naught but the deepening glooms beneath 

the oak. 
Then sighed the voice, "0 Rhcecus ! 

nevermore 
Shalt thou behold me or by day or night, 
Me, who would fain have blessed thee 

with a love 
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart; 
But thou didst scorn my humble mes- 
senger, 
And sent 'st him back to me with bruised 

wings. 
We spirits only show to gentle eyes, 
We ever ask an undivided love. 
And he who scorns the least of Nature's 

works 
Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from 

all. 
Farewell! for thou canst never see me 
more."j 



JUST SO. 

With look like patient Job's, eschewing 
evil, 
With motions graceful as a bird's in 
air, 
Thou art, in sober truth, the ugliest devil 
That e'er clinched fingers in a fellow's 
hair. 




ABRAM AND ZIMRI. 

Abram and Zimri owned a field together — 

A level field hid in a happy vale; 

They plowed it with one plow, and in the 

spring 
Sowed, walking side by side, the fruitful 

seed. 
In harvest, when the glad earth smiled 

with grain, 
Each carried to his home one-half the 

sheaves, 
And stored them with much labor in his 

barns. 
Now, Abram had a wife and seven sons, 
But Zimri dwelt alone within his house. 

One night before the sheaves were gath- 
ered in, 
As Zimri lay upon his lonely bed 
And counted in his mind his little gains, 
He thought upon his brother Abram's 

lot, 
And said, "I dwell alone within my 

house, 
But Abram hath a wife and seven sons, 
And yet we share the harvest sheaves 

alike. 
He surely needeth more for life than I; 
I will arise, and gird myself and go 
Down to the field and add to his from 
mine." 

So he arose, and girded up his loins, 
And went out softly to the level field; 
The moon shone out from dusky bars 

of clouds, 
The trees stood black against the cold 

blue sky, 
The branches waved and whispered in 

the wind. 







592 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



<P% 



y 



So Zimri, guided by the shifting light, ' 

Went down the mountain path, and found 
the field, 

Took from his store of sheaves a gener- 
ous third, 

And bore them gladly to his brother's 
heap, 

And then went back to sleep and happy 
dreams. 

Now, that same night, as Abram lay in 

bed, 
Thinking upon his blissful state of life, 
He thought upon his brother Zimri's lot, 
And said, "He dwells within his house 

alone, 
He goeth forth to toil with few to help, 
He goeth home at night to a cold house, 
And has few other friends but me and 

mine," 
(For these two tilled the happy vale 

alone, ) 
"While I, whom Heaven has very greatly 

blessed ; 
Dwell happy with my wife and seven 

sons, 
Who aid me in my toil and make it light, 
And yet we share the harvest sheaves 

alike. 
This surely is not pleasing unto God; 
I will arise, and gird myself, and go 
Out to the field, and borrow from my 

store, 
And add unto my brother Zimri's pile." 

So he arose and girded up his loins, 

And went down softly to the level field; 

The moon shone out from silver bars of 
clouds, 

The trees stood blank against the starry 
sky, 

The dark leaves waved and whispered in 
the breeze. 

So Abram, guided by the doubtful light, 

Passed down the mountain path and found 
the field, 

Took from his share of sheaves a gener- 
ous third, 

And added them unto his brother's heap; 

Then he went back to sleep and happy 
dreams. 



So the next morning with the early sun 
The brothers rose, and went out to their 

toil; 
And when they came to see the heavy 

sheaves, 
Each wondered in his heart to find his 

heap, 
Though he had given a third, was still 

the same. 

Now, the next night went Zimri to the 

field, 
Took from his store of sheaves a generous 

share, 
And placed them on his brother Abram's 

heap, 
The moon looked out from bars of silvery 

cloud, 
The cedars stood up black against the 

sky, 
The olive branches whispered in the 

wind. 

Then Abram came down softly from his 

home, 
And, looking to the right and left, went 

on; 
Took from his ample store a generous 

third, 
And laid it on his brother Zimri's pile. 
Then Zimri rose, and caught him in his 

arms, 
And wept upon his neck, and kissed his 

cheek; 
And Abram saw the whole, and could not 

speak, 
Neither could Zimri. So they walked 

along 
Back to their homes, and thanked their 

God in prayer 
That he had bound them in such loving 

bands. 



KISSING. 



Give me kisses — do not stop 
Counting nectar by the drop; 
All the coins your lips can print 
Never will exhaust the mint, 
So keep on kissing. 



U 






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30 

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38 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ONLY GONE AWAY. 

I will not think of thee as cold and dead, 

Low, lying in the grave that I can see. 

I would not stand beside when life had 

fled 
• And left the body only there for me. 

To me thou art not dead, but gone an 
hour 
Into another country fair and sweet, 
Where thou shalt by some undiscovered 
power 
Be kept in youth and beauty till we 
meet. 

So I will think of thee as living there, 
And I will keep thy grave in sweetest 
bloom, 
As if thou gav'st a garden to my care 
Ere thou departed from our happy 
home. 

Then when my day is done, and I, too, 
die, 
'T will be as if I journeyed to thy side; 
And when all quiet we together lie, 
We shall not know that we have ever 
died. 



TRUE. 



An open foe may prove a curse, 
But a pretended friend is worse. 



I LOVED YOU SO. ' 

I love thee, dear, come back to me, 
My lonesome heart cries out for thee, 
To see thy soft eyes radiant shine 
With their old love-light, rare, divine, 
And hear thy voice so tenderly 
Speak low and lovingly to me — 
The cares of life: for I would cast 
The memory of the far-off past 
Away, for naught can bring to me 
Thee, with thy voice of melody — 
0, heaven above alone doth know 
I loved you so. I loved you so! 




A QUESTION. 

Is heaven so high 

That pity cannot breathe its air? 



FROM AFAR OFF. 

Oh, my darling, when I meet thee, 
Will thy spirit speak to mine — 
Shining from thine eyes to greet me, 
Like a dawn-light, deeply, sweetly, 
Saying, I am thine. 

Or shall veil of separation 

Fold thee round, away from me, 
In a holy isolation, 
By no passionate pulsation 

Stirred at sight of me? 

Oh, however thou shalt use me, 

Steadfast still my love shall stay; 
Out of all the world I choose thee — 
If I win or if I lose thee, 
Thine I am for aye. 



TRUE TO THE LAST. 

Oft as the maiden turns the token, 
Oft as the miser counts his gold; 

So till life's silver cord is broken, 
Would I of thy fond love be told. 



HARD WORDS. 

Hard words, jealousies and fears, 
Set folks together by the ears. 



IT MAY BE FOR YEARS, IT MAY 
BE FOREVER. 

Oh, hast thou forgotten how soon we 
must sever, 

Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we must 
part, 

It may be for years, and it may be for- 
ever, 

Then why art thou silent thou voice of 
my heart. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 






595 



SATISFACTION. 

No crown, no palm be mine, but let me 

keep 
A beart tbat still can feel, and eyes that 

still can weep. 



MY WIFE AND I. 

As my wife and I at the window one day 
Stood watching a man with a monkey, 

A cart came by, with a " broth of a boy," 
Who was driving a stout little donkey. 

To my wife I then spoke, by way of a 
joke, 
" There 's a relation of yours in that 
carriage," 
To which she replied, as the donkey she 
spied, 
"Ah, yes, a relation by marriage." 



THE CHILDREN WE KEEP. 

The children kept coming, one by one, 

Till the boys were five and the girls 

were three, 

And the big brown house was alive with 

fun 

From the basement floor to the old 

roof-tree. 

Like garden flowers the little ones grew, 

Nurtui-ed and trained with the tender- 

est care; 

Warmed by love's sunshine, bathed in its 

dew, 

They blossomed into beauty, like roses 

rare. 

i 
But one of the boys grew weary one day, 

And leaning his head on his mother's 
breast, 
He said, "1 am tired and cannot play; 
Let me sit awhile on your knee and 
rest." 
She cradled him close in her fond em- 
brace, 
She hushed him to sleep with her 
sweetest song, 
And rapturous love still lighted his face 
When his spirit had joined the heaven- 
ly throng. 




Then the eldest girl, with her thoughtful 
eyes, 
Who stood where " the brook and the 
river meet," 
Stole softly away into paradise 

Ere "the river" had reached her slen- 
der feet. 
.While the father's eyes on the grave are 
bent, 
The mother looked upward beyond the 
skies; 
" Our treasures," she whispered, " were 
only lent, 
Our darlings were angels in earth's dis- 
guise." 

The years flew by and the children began 
With longing to think of the world 
outside; 
And as each in his turn became a man, 
The boys proudly went from the 
father's side. 
The girls were women so gentle and fair 
That lovers were speedy to woo and 
win; 
And with' orange blossoms in braided 
hair, 
The old home was left, the new home 
to begin. 

So, one by one, the children have gone, — 
The boys were five and the girls were 
three ; 
And the big brown house is gloomy and 
lone, 
With but two old folks for its com- 
pany. 
They talk to each other about the past, 

As they sit together in eventide. 
And say, "All the children we keep 
at last 
Are the boy and the girl who in child- 
hood died." 



THE DUTY OF MAN. 

Nature bids me love myself, and hate 
every one that injures me; reason bids me 
love my friends, and hate my enemies; 
religion bids me love all, and hate none, 
and overcome evil with good. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




ELLA. 

Everything fair seems to love you, 
Seems proud at your feet to fall; 

And the lark singing high above you, 
Sings you are the fairest of all. 



READ THIS. 



The kindest and the happiest pair 
May find occasion to forbear, 
And something every day they live 
To pity or perhaps forgive. 



DUELLING. 



The point of honor has been deemed of 

use, 
To teach good manners, and to curb 

abuse; 
Admit it true, the consequence is clear, 
Our polished manners are a mask we wear, 
And, at the bottom, barbarous still and 

rude, 
We are restrained, indeed, but not sub- 
dued. 
The very remedy, however sure, 
Springs from the mischief it intends to 

cure, 
And savage in its principle appears, 
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it 

bears. 
'T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend 
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal 

end; 
That now and then a hero must decease, 
That the surviving world may live in 

peace. 
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show 
The practice dastardly and mean and low; 
That men engage in it compelled by force, 
And fear, not courage, is its proper source; 
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear 
Lest fops should censure, and fools should 

sneer; 
At least, to trample on our Maker's laws, 
And hazard life for any or no cause, 
To rush into a fixed eternal state 
Out of the very flames of rage and hate, 
Or send another shivering to the bar 

if 
fi fe— 



With all the guilt of such unnatural war, 
Whatever Use may urge, or Honor plead, 
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
Am I to set my life upon a throw 
Because a bear is rude and surly? No, — 
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
Will not affront me; and no other can. 
Were I empowered to regulate the lists, ' 
They should encounter with well-loaded 

fists; 
A Trojan combat would be something new, 
Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue; 
Then each might show, to his admiring 

friends, 
In honorable bumps his rich amends, 
And carry, in contusions of his skull, 
A satisfactory receipt in full. 



CURIOUS WEATHER. 

A traveler at a Pennsylvania hotel got 
out of his bed one night to see what sort 
of weather it was, but instead of looking 
out upon the sky, thrust his head through 
the glass window of a cupboard. "Land- 
lord," shouted the guest, "what sort of 
weather do you call this? the night is as 
dark as Egypt, and smells of cheese." 



ELEANORA. 



At dead of night her silk smooth hair in 
two thick streams dividing, 
All over her gleaming, its lustrous 
heauty lay; 
She stood too long at her mirror, the 
conscious smile half hiding, 
And the tall wax tapers burning made 
the chamber light as day. 

At dead of night in silk smooth hair her 
slender fingers twining, 
She stands at the tell-tale mirror, with 
never a word to say; 
A calm, unearthly beauty on that white 
forehead shining, 
And the tall wax tapers-burning, make 
the chamber light as day. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE AND JEALOUSY. 

Love may exist without jealousy, al- 
though this is rare; but jealousy may 
exist without love, and this is common; 
for jealousy can feed on that which is 
bitter, no less than on that which is 
sweet, and is sustained by pride as often 
as by affection. 



WOMAN. 



0, woman, thou secret past knowing! 

Like lilacs that grow on the wall, 
You breathe every air that is going, 

Yet gather but sweetness from all. 



FRIENDS. 



I do not tremble when I meet 

The stoutest of my foes, 
But heaven defend me from the friend 

Who comes, but never goes. 



'TIS BETTER, 

'T is better, sure, when blind, deceiv'd to 

be, 
Than be deluded when a man can see! 



TO MY WIFE. 

shut the world out from the heart you 
cheer! 
Though small the circle of your smiles 
may be, 
The world is distant but your smiles are 
near, 
These make you more than all the 
world to me. 



REMEMBER. 




Remember well and bear in mind, 
A faithful friend is hard to find, 
And when you find a friend that's true, 
n't change an old one for a new. 



THE END. 

At the end of every road there stands a 
wall 
Not built by hands, impenetrable, bare; 
Behind it lies an unknown land, and all 
The paths men plod lead to it and end 
there. 



HANDS. 



Then once, just once, dear hands, when 
mine are cold, 
And stir not at your coming, gently 
take 
The frozen fingers in your living hold 
An instant, clasp them for the old 
troth's sake. 



CLARIMONDE. 

Dear Clarimonde, I judge from your own 
story 
That you were but a naughty girl at 
best; 
And that Romauld did well to leave before 
. he 
Lost all the sense he may have once 
possessed. 



DO NOT DOUBT ME. 

Looking in your gentle face, 

In your eyes so bright and beaming, 
Do I see a shade of doubt, 

Or, my darling, am I dreaming? 

Everything that feedeth love, 
Of the beautiful about me, 

Have I offered on this shrine — 
Oh, my darling, never doubt me. 

Thanks, my precious one and true, 
For this timely maiden censure; 

Doubts within my heart's domain 
Ne'er again, my love, shall venture 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




MY GIRL. 

Her eyes are lovely; I won't tell 

What hue their loveliness may show; 

Her braided hair becomes her well, 
In color like — but, ah, no, no! 

That is my secret — red or brown, 

It is the prettiest hair in town — 
She is the prettiest girl in town. 



A FRAGMENT. 

Ah ! never can I forget that happy day, 
When you and I not thinking it amiss, 

And no one seeing us who might be- 
tray — 
Each to the other gave a rapturous kiss. 

I felt the passing pulse of your young 
heart, 
Responsive, like an echo to my own; 
Your dreamy eyes and dewy lips apart, 
O'erwhelmed me with a thrill I ne'er 
had known. 

Since then I knew not whether thou hast 
kept 
The kiss I gave, nor whether in thy 
mighty rest 
Dreaming, thy arms have wandered, while 
thou slept, 
Seeking again to fold me to thy breast. 

I only feel that thou art strangely 
changed, 
As thou wert warm so art thou calm 
and cold, 
While I unconscious why thou art es- 
tranged, 
Burn with the passion I gave thee of 
old. 



KISSING. WHO WOULDN'T? 

When Sarah Jane, the moral miss, 
Declares 't is very wrong to kiss, 

I '11 bet a shilling I see through it; 
The damsel, fairly understood, 
Feels just as any Christian should — 
he 'd rather suffer wrong than do it. 




SENSIBLE. 

Billet-doux less dangerous are, 

When held unto the burning taper, 

Much may be whispered in the ear 
Which is not safe to trust on paper. 



ADVERSITY. 



In this wild world the fondest and the 

best 
Are the most tried, most troubled and 

distressed. 



KEEP THY FAITH. 

Let the links that unite us grow brighter 

each day, 
And the bonds be so green they will never 

decay; 
Let our faith for each other forever 

endure, 
And all that we wish for and hope for is 

sure. 

In sickness and health, in the sunshine 

and shade, 
If we trust as we should every phantom 

will fade; 
Then in life and in death let us hold to 

our trust, 
And perish while trusting, if perish we 

must. 

So let us determine that come what there 

may, 
Our links shall grow brighter and stronger 

each day; 
And the bonds that unite us — our faith, 

hope and trust, 
Shall ever be green till we sleep in the 

dust. 



LOVE. 



The world is filled with folly and 
And love must cling, where it 
say; 

For beauty is easy enough to win 
But one isn't loved every day. 



sin, 
can, I 







A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE SAME "OLD STORY." 

'T is a case of fly and spider over; 

She is the spider, and the kiss her net, 
She bound it tightly round the fly, — her 
lover, 
And she bagged her game securely, — 
you may bet. 



SOLITUDE. 



Laugh, and the world laughs with you; 

Weep, and you weep alone, 
For the sad old earth must borrow its 
mirth, 

But has trouble enough of its own. 

Rejoice, and men will seek you; 

Grieve, and they turn to go; 
They want full measure of all your 
pleasure, 

But they do not need of your woe. 

Feast, and your halls are crowded; 

Fast, and the world goes by; 
Succeed and give, and it helps you live, 

But no man can help you die. 



PARTING. 



Let me hold your hand as I used to do, 

This is the last, last time you know, 
For to-morrow a wooer comes to woo, 

And to win you, though I love you so. 
Love, the poet, has written well: 

He has won our hearts by his poem 
sweet; 
And now at the end we must say fare- 
well — 

Ah! but the summer was fair and fleet. 

Hear the viols cry, and the deep bassoon 

Seems sobbing out in its undertone 
Some sorrowful memory. The time 

Is the saddest one I have ever known; 
Or is it because we must part to-night * 

That the music seems so sad? Ah, me! 
You are weeping, love, and your lips are 
white — 

The ways of life are a mystery. 




I love you, love, with a love so true 

That in coming years I shall not forget 
The beautiful face and the dreams I 
knew, 
And memory always will hold regret. 
I shall stand by the seas as we stand to- 
night, 
And think of the summer whose blos- 
soms died; 
When the frosts of fate fell chill and 
white 
On the fairest flower of the summer 
tide. 

They are calling you. ■ Must I let you go? 

Must I say good-bye and go my way? 
If we must part, it is better so — 

Good-bye's such a sorrowful word to 
say! 
Give me, my darling, one last sweet 
kiss — 
So we kiss our dear ones and see them 
die, 
But death holds no parting so sad as this; 
God bless you, and keep you, — and so 
good-bye. 



THE WISH. 



For thee, my absent love, I '11 wish for 
thee; 
Thy presence far outweighs 
Those blessings which I fondly deemed so 
dear — 
Wealth, health, and length of days. 



LOVE. 



Drift as thou wilt, my dear, if as the tide, 

More swiftly ebbs and bears thee out 

to sea, 

That love unchanging may with me abide, 

That voice still sound, that light still 

lead to thee. 



REMORSE. 



How sharper than a serpent's tooth, 



Is an ungrateful child. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




LOVE. 

He is blessed in love alone, 

Who loves for years, and loves but one. 



KISSES. 



My Love and I for kisses played ; 

She would keep stakes; I was content; 
But when I won she would be paid; 

She made me ask her what she meant. 
Quoth she, since you are in this wrang- 
ling vein, 
Here — take your kisses, give me mine 
again. 



THE CHILDREN. 

When the lessons and tasks are all ended. 

And the school for the day is dismissed, 
And the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me "Good Night" and be 
kissed; 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace! 
Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 

Shedding sunshine and love on my face. 

And when they are gone I sit dreaming 

Of childhood, too lovely to last; 
Of love that my heart will remember, 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its wickedness made 
me 

A partner of sorrow and sin, 
When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness within. 

Oh, my heart grows weak as a woman's, 

And fountains of feeling will flow, 
When I think of the paths steep and 
stony, 
Where the feet of the dear ones must 
go: 
Of the mountains of sin hanging over 
them, 
Of the tempests of fate flowing wild; 
Oh, there's nothing on earth half so 
holy 
the innocent heart of a child. 




They are idols of hearts and of house- 
holds, 
They are angels of God in disguise, 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, 

His glory still beams in their eyes; 
Oh, those truants from earth and from 
heaven, 
They have made me more manly and 
mild, 
And I know how Jesus could liken 
The Kingdom of God to a child. 

Seek not a life for the dear ones 

All radiant, as others have done, 
But that life may have just enough 
shadow 
To temper the glare of the sun. 
I would pray God to guard them from 
evil, 
But my prayer would bound back to 
myself; 
Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner, 
But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod; 
I have taught them the goodness of 
knowledge, 

They have taught me the goodness of 
God. 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness, 

Where I shut them for breaking a rule, 
My frown is sufficient correction, 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, 

To traverse its threshold no more; 
Ah, how I shall sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each morn at the door; 
I shall miss the good-nights and the 
kisses", 

And the gush of their innocent glee, 
The group on the green, and the flowers 

That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at morn and at even, 

Their song in the school and the street, 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 

And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And death says the school is dismissed, 
May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me " good-night! " and be kissed. 




5-gQK 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



601 



THE WANDERER. 

And, as the shell upon the mountain's 
height 
Sings of the sea; 
So do I ever, leagues and leagues away; 
So do I ever, wandering where I may, 
Sing, 0, my home! 
Ever sing of thee. 



TO PLEASE A WIFE. 

To please a wife, when her occasions 

call, 
Would busy the most vigorous of us all. 



THE MEETING ADJOURNED. 

The heart that beat in love with mine, 
And the form I loved to meet, 

No more doth come, with its cheering 
smile, 
To our dear old trysting seat. 

I love to visit the cherished spot, 
Though Alleen, I know, 's not there; 

But the meeting place is hallowed still 
With the incense of her prayer. 

Though many years since, she went to 
rest 

In her grave beside the stream, 
Yet her love remains deep in my heart, 

And her memory 's ever green. 

We meet no more on the earth, Alleen, 
Where the flow'rets bloom to die; 

But my heart grows light with the 
thought, Alleen, 
Of our meeting in the sky. 



THE ELEMENTS OF SUCCESS. 

It was a saying of Aristotle that, to 
become an able man in any profession 
whatever, three things are necessary — 
nature, study and practice. 



MY DEAR WIFE. 

My precious wife is worth her weight, 
Not in rough gold, but diamonds fine, 

And whether that be small or great, 
I leave the reader to divine. 

Ask me to gauge her solid worth — 
She would outweigh the whole round 
earth. 



THE SPEECH OF SILENCE. 

The solemn sea of silence lies between us; 

I know thou livest, and thou lovest me; 

And yet I wish some good ship would 

come sailing 

Across the ocean, bearing word from 

thee. 

The dead calm awes me with its awful 
stillness; 
No anxious doubts or fears disturb my 
breast; 
I only ask some little wave of language 
To stir this vast infinitude of rest. 

I am oppressed with this great sense of 
loving, 
So much I give, so much receive from 
thee; 
Like some sweet incense rising from a 
rose-bud, 
So floats the fragrance of thy love 
'round me. 

Too deep the language which the spirit 
utters — 
Too vast the knowledge which my soul 
hath stirred! 
Send some white ship across the sea of 
silence, 
And interrupt its utterance with a 
word. 



MY DEAR WIFE. 

Fairest flowers which gardens bear, 
Proud exotics reared with care; 
Beautiful though they may be, 
May not be compared with thee. 



it 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




THE MEETING. 

Oh, how sweet it will be in that beautiful 
land, 
So free from all sorrow and pain, 
With songs on our lips and with harps in 
our hand, 
To meet one another again. 



NIGHT. 



Night is the time for rest: 
How sweet, when labors close, 

To gather round an aching breast 
The curtain of repose, 

Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head 

Down on our own delightful bed! 

Night is the time for dreams: 

The gay romance of life, 
When truth that is, and truth that seems, 

Mix in fantastic strife; 
Ah! visions, less beguiling far 
Than wdking dreams by daylight are ! 

Night is the time for toil: 

To plow the classic field, 
Intent to find the buried spoil 

It's wealthy furrows yield; 
Till all is ours that sages taught, 
That poets sang, and heroes wrought. 

Night is the time to weep: 

To wet with unseen tears 
Those graves of Memory, where sleep 

The joys of other years; 
Hopes, that were angels at their birth, 
But died when young, like things of earth. 

Night is the time to watch: 

'er ocean's dark expanse, 
To hail the Pleiades, or catch 

The full moon's earliest glance, 
That brings into the homesick mind 
All we have loved and left behind. 

Night is the time for care: 
Brooding on hours misspent, 

To see the spectre of Despair 
Come to our lowly tent; 

Like Brutus, midst his slumbering host, 

Summoned to die by Caesar's ghost. 



Night is the time to think: 
When, from the eye, the soul 

Takes flight; and on the utmost brink 
Of yonder starry pole 

Discerns beyond the abyss of night 

The dawn of uncreated light. 

Night is the time to pray: 

Our Saviour oft withdrew 
To desert mountains far away; 

So will His follower do: 
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod, 
And commune there alone with God. 

Night is the time for Death: 

When all around is peace, 
Calmly to yield the weary breath, 

From sin and suffering cease, 
Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign 
To parting friends; — such death be mine. 



SOMETIME. 



Am I to blame that still I sigh some- 
times, 
And sometimes know a pang of jealous 
pain, 
That, while I walk all lonely, other eyes 
May haply smile to yours that smile 
again, 

Sometime. 

The past is past ! but is it sin if yet, 
I, who in calm content would seek to 
dwell, 
Who will not grieve, yet cannot quite 
forget, 
Still send a thought to' you, and wish 
you well, 

Sometime ? 



TOAST. TO WOMAN. 

Second only to the press in conveying 
the news. 



GOOD — CHARITY. 

Better divide with a wolf your store, 
Than drive a lamb away from your door 








A BOOK OF POEMS 



603 



KISSES. 

I vow I love thee for those soft 
Red coral lips I've kissed so oft. 



BEAUTY. 



Lady, you are the cruellest she alive 
If you will lead your graces to the grave, 
And leave the world no copy. 



SONG OF THE BROOK. 

I come from haunts of coot and hern; 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparkle out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry down, 
Or slip between the ridges, 

By twenty thorps, a little town, 
And half a hundred bridges. 

Till last by Philip's farm I flow, 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I chatter over stony ways, 
In little sharps and trebles, 

I bubble into eddying bays, 
I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banks I fret, 
My many a field and fallow, 

And many a fairy foreland, set 
With willow-weed and mallow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I wind about, and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailing, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling. 




And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel, 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel; 

And draw them all along, and flow 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 

I steal by lawns and grassy plots; 

I slide by hazel covers; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots, 

That grow for happy lovers. 

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
Among my skimming swallows; 

I make the netted sunbeam dance 
Against my sandy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars, 

In brambly wildernesses; 
I linger by my shingly bars; 

I loiter round my cresses; 

And out again I curve and flow, 
To join the brimming river, 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on forever. 



WEALTH AND POVERTY. 

No man is rich but him who abounds 
in virtue, and no one so poor as he who 
is wanting in goodness. 



TO A BACHELOR. 

Who loves not woman, wine and song, 
Remains a fool his whole life long. 



DELILAH. 



If I by the Throne should behold you, 
Looking up with those eyes loved so 
well, 
Close, close, in my arms I would fold you, 
And drop with vou down to sweet 
hell. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



TRUE TEACHING. 

Thou roust be true thyself, 

If thou the truth wouldst teach; 

Thy soul must overflow, if thou 
Another soul wouldst reach, — 

It needs the overflowing heart 
To give the lips full speech. 

Think truly, and thy thought 
Shall the world's famine feed; 

Speak truly, and each word of thine 
Shall be a fruitful seed; 

Live truly, and thy life shall be 
A great and noble creed. 



THAT SILENT MOON. 

That silent moon, that silent moon, 
Careering now through cloudless sky; 

0, who shall tell me what varied scenes 
Have passed beneath the placid eye, 

Since first, to light this wayward earth, 

She walked in tranquil beauty forth? 

How oft has guilt's unhallowed hand, 
And superstition's senseless rite, 

And loud licentious revelry 

Profaned her pure and holy light; 

Small sympathy is her's, I ween, 

With sighs like these, that virgin queen! 

But dear to her, in summer eve, 
By rippling wave or tufted grove, 

When hand in hand is purely clasped, 
And heart meets heart in holy love 

To smile in quid/ loneliness, 

And hear each whispered vow, and bless. 

Dispersed along the world's wide way, 
When friends are far, and fond ones 
rove, 

How powerful she to wake the thought, 
And start the tear for those we love, 

Who watch with us at night's pale noon 

And gaze upon that silent moon. 

How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn 
The magic of that moonlight sky 

To bring again the vanished scenes, 
The happy eves of days gone by; 

Again to bring, 'mid bursting tears, 
loved, the lost of other years. 





And oft she looks, that silent moon 
On lonely eyes that wake to weep 

In dungeon dark, or sacred cell, 

Or couch, where pain has banished 
sleep; 

0, softly beams her gentle eye 

On those who mourn, and those who die! 

But beam on whomsoe'er she will, 
And fall where'er her splendors may, 

There 's pureness in her chastened light, 
There 's comfort in her tranquil ray: 

What power is her's to soothe the heart! 

What power the trembling tear to start! 

The dewy morn let others love, 

Or bask them in the noontide ray, — 

There 's not an hour but has its charm, 
From dawning light to dying day, — 

But, 0, let mine a fairer boon, — 

That silent moon, that silent moon! 



FORTUNE. 



But Fortune, like some others of her sex, 

Delights in tantalizing and tormenting. 

One day we feed upon their smiles, — the 

next 

Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and 

repenting. 

Eve never walked in Paradise more pure 
Than on that morn when Satan played 
the devil 
With her and all her race. A lovesick 
wooer 
Ne'er asked a kinder maiden, or more 
civil, 
Than Cleopatra was to Antony 
The day she left him on the Ionian sea. 

The serpent — loveliest in his coiled ring, 
With eye that charms, and beauty that 

outvies 
The tints of the rainbow — bears upon 

his sting 
The deadliest venom. Ere the dolphin 

dies 
Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's 

breath 
Are tropic winds before the voice of death 




A BOOK OF POEMS 




Is heard upon the waters, summoning 
The midnight earthquake from its 
sleep of years 
To do its task of woe. The clouds that 
fling 
The lightning brighten ere the bolt 
appears; 
The pantings of the warrior's heart are 

proud 
Upon that battle-morn whose night-dews 

> wet his shroud; 
The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest; 
The leaves of Autumn smile when 
fading fast; 
The swan's last song is sweetest. 



LOVE. 



Love may safely and truthfully be called 
The honey of heaven. 



TRIBUTE TO WOMAN. 

Oh, the priceless value of the love of a 
pure woman! Gold cannot purchase a 
gem so precious. Titles and honor con- 
fer upon the heart no such serene happi- 
ness. In our darkest moments, when dis- 
appointment and ingratitude, with cor- 
roding care, gather thick around, and 
even the gaunt form of poverty menaces 
with his skeleton fingers, it gleams around 
the soul with an angel's smile. Time 
cannot mar its brilliancy, distance but 
strengthens its influence, bolts and bars 
cannot limit its progress, it follows the 
prisoner into his dark cell and sweetens 
the home morsel that appeases his hun- 
ger, and in the silence of midnight it 
plays around his heart, and in his dreams 
he folds to his bosom the form of her 
who loves on still, though the world has 
turned coldly from him. The couch 
made by the hand of the loved one is 
soft to the weary limbs of the sick suf- 
ferer, and the potion administered by the 
same hands loses half its bitterness. The 
pillow carefully adjusted by her brings 
> repose to the fevered brain, and her 



words of kind encouragement revive the 
sinking spirit. It would almost seem that 
God, compassionating woman's great 
frailty, had planted this jewel in her 
breast, whose heaven - like influence 
should cast into forgetfulness remem- 
brance of any shortcomings, by building 
up in his heart another Eden, where 
perennial flowers forever bloom and 
crystal waters gush from exhaustless 
fountains throughout all time. 



WIFE TO HUSBAND. % 

When I am dust and thou art quick and 

glad, 
Bethink thee, sometimes, what good days 

we had, 
What happy days, beside the shining seas, 
Or by the twilight fire in careless ease, 
Reading the rhymes of some old poet 

lover, 
Or whispering our own love story over. 

When thou hast mourned for me a seemly 

space, 
And set another in my vacant place, 
Charmed with her brightness, trusting in 

her truth, 
Warmed to new life by her beguiling 

youth, 
Be happy, dearest one, and surely know, 
I would not have thee thy life's joys 

forego. 

Yet think of me sometimes, when cold 

and still 
I lie, who once was swift to do thy will, 
Whose lips so often answered to thy kiss, 
Who, dying, blessed thee for that bygone 

bliss, 
I pray thee do not bar my presence quite 
From thy new life, so full of new delight. 

I would not vex thee, waiting by thy side, 
My presence should not chill thy fair 

young bride, 
Only bethink thee how alone I lie, — 
To die and be forgotten were to die 
A double death, and I desire of thee, 
Some grace of memory, fair howe'er she 

be. 





606 



A BOOK OF POEMS 



J 3 © 



KISSES. 

All the kisses I have given I grudge 
From my soul to-day; 

And of all I have ever taken I would 
Wipe the thought away. 




THE MILKMAID. 

A milkmaid, who poised a full pail on her 

head, 
Thus mused on her prospects in life, and 

said: 
"Let me see, — I should think that this 

milk will procure 
One hundred good eggs, or fourscore to 

be sure. 

" Well then, — stop a bit, — it must not be 
forgotten, 

Some of these may be broken, and some 
may be rotten; 

But~if twenty for accident should be de- 
tached, 

It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to 
be hatched. 

'Well, sixty sound eggs, — no, sound 

chickens, I mean; 
Of course some may die, — we'll suppose 

seventeen, 
Seventeen! not so many, — say ten at the 

most, 
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or 

to roast. 

" But then there 's their barley: how much 

will they need? 
Why, they take but one grain at a time 

when they feed, — 
So that's a mere trifle; now then, let me 

see, 
At a fair market price how much money 

there '11 be, 

"Six shillings a pair — five — four — 

three-and-six, 
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I 

will fix; 
Now what will that make ? fifty chickens 

I said, — 
Fifty times three-and-sixpence, I'll ask 

Brother Ned, 



" 0, but stop, — three-and-sixpence a pair 

I must sell 'em; 
Well, a pair is a couple, — now then let 

us tell 'em; 
A couple in fifty will go (my poor brain!) 
Why, just a score times, and five pairs 

will remain. 

"Twenty-five pair of fowls — now how 

tiresome it is 
That I can't reckon up so much money 

as this! 
Well, there 's no use in trying, so let 's 

give a guess, — 
I'll say twenty pounds, and it can't be 

no less. 

" Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy 

me a cow, 
Thirty geese, and two turkeys, — eight 

pigs and a sow; 
Now, if these turn out well, at the end 

of the year, 
I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 

'tis clear." 

Forgetting her burden, when this she had 
said, 

The maid superciliously tossed up her 
head; 

When, alas for her prospects! her milk- 
pail descended, 

And so all her schemes for the future 
were ended. 

This moral, I think, may be safely at- 
tached, — 

"Reckon not on your chickens before 
they are hatched." 



SYMPATHY. 



Who that hath wept in secret, will not 
say 

How many a pang a friend can soothe 
away; 

Who that hath mourned o'er unimparted 
grief, 

But in disclosure finds a sweet relief. 

Yes, loved communion, it is thine to shed 

Thy moonlight radiance round the suf- 
ferer's head. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 



607? 



DEAR WIFE. 

Dear wife, to-night I thiuk of you, 

While tossing winds do beat the shore, 
While madcaps foam upon the sea, 
While hearts of glee ring merrily, 
And make sweet music o'er and o'er. 

My thoughts turn back; I think of you, 

As when we met with social aims; 
I yet am thinking you are true, 
And will not leave old friends for new, 
The thought my tender heart quite 
tames. 

Ah! many a time my mind reverts 

To all those happy hours we spent; 
And through my heart it oft asserts 
The happy thought, which never hurts, 
The buoyant mind to give assent. 

But time changes all things, you see; 

Those happy days are not forgot; 
Then settle down, let's happy be, 
Nor leave no room for misery, 

And cpaietly await our lot. 

And now I leave this theme to think, 
And wander over scenes long past; 
And as I near the brook's steep brink, 
And weld the last dissevered link, 
'T will all be well at last. 




THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD. 

Down deep in the hollow so damp and so 
cold, 
Where oaks are by ivy o'ergrown, 

The gray moss and lichen creep over 
the mould, 
Lying loose on a ponderous stone. 

Now within the huge stone, like a king 
on his throne, 

A toad has been sitting more years than 
is known; 

And strange as it seems, yet he con- 
stantly deems 

The world standing still while he 's 
dreaming his dreams, — 

Does this wonderful toad in his cheer- 
ful abode 



In the innermost heart of that flinty old 

stone, 
By the gray-haired moss and the lichen 



Down deep in the hollow, from morn- 
ing till night, 
Dun shadows glide over the ground, 
Where a watercourse once, as it sparkled 

with light, 
Turned a ruined old mill-wheel 

around: 
Long years have passed by since its bed 

became dry, 
And the trees grow so close, scarce a 

glimpse of the sky 
Is seen in the hollow, so dark and so 

damp, 
Where the glow-worm at noonday is 

trimming his lamp, 
And hardly a sound from the thicket 

around, 
Where the rabbit and squirrel leap over 

the ground, 
Is heard by the toad in his spacious 

abode 
In the innermost heart of that ponderous 

stone, 
By the gray-haired moss and the lichen 

o'ergrown. 

Down deep in that hollow the bees 

never come, 
The shade is too black for a flower; 
And jewel-winged birds, with their 

musical hum, 
Never flash in the night of that 

bower; 
But the cold-blooded snake, in the edge 

of the brake, 
Lies amid the rank grass half asleep, 

half awake; 
And the ashen -white snail, with the 

slime in its trail,. 
Moves wearily on like life's tedious tale, 
Yet disturbs not the toad in his spa- 
cious abode, 
In the innermost heart of that flinty old 

stone, 
By the gray-haired moss and the lichen 

o'ergrown. 





A BOOK OF POEMS 




Down deep in the hollow some wise- 
acres sit 
Like the toad in his cell in the stone; 
Around them in daylight the hlind 

owlets flit, 
And their creeds are with ivy o'er- 

grown; — 
Their streams may go dry, and the 

wheels cease to ply, 
And their glimpses be few of the sun 

and the sky, 
Still they hug to their breast every 

time-honored guest, 
And slumber and doze in inglorious 

rest; 
For no progress they find in the wide 

sphere of mind, 
And the world's standing still with all 

of their kind; 
Contented to dwell deep down in the 

well, 
Or move like the snail in the crust of 

his shell, 
Or live like the toad in his narrow 

abode, 
With their souls closely wedged in a thick 

wall of stone, 
By the gray weeds of prejudice rankly 

o'ergrown. 



GRAVES— A MARRIAGE. 

On the 26th of June, in Graves End, 
England, bv the Reverend Barilla Graves, 
Captain William Graves, son of John 
Graves, Esq., to Miss Nancy Graves, 
daughter of General Azariah Graves. 



The graves, 't is said, will yield their dead, 
When Gabriel's trumpet shakes the 
skies; 

But, if God please, from Graves like these 
A dozen living souls may rise. 



PERFECTION. 

In all this world, much less in woman- 
kind, 

Tis true, perfection none must hope to 
find. 




OH, MOLLIE, HOW I LOVE YOU. 

As dewy daisies at your feet, 

As birds that sing above you, 
You are as pure, and blithe, and sweet — 
Oh, Mollie, how I love you! 
The words are few, 
But they are true — 
Oh, Mollie, how I love you! 

The Poet sings his sweetest strain 

To love, and love's dear duty; 

I can but gaze, and gaze again, 

Upon your grace and beauty; 

I cannot sing 

A single thing 

But Mollie, how I love you! 

I cannot call you nymph or queen, 

My lips are so unwary, 
Your own sweet name slips in between, 
You 're Mollie, not a fairy. 
The live-long day 
I can but say, 
Oh, Mollie, how I love you! 

The rich man brings a splendid gift; 

Th soldier talks of glory; 
My face to yours I can but lift, 
And tell the same old story: 
The song is old, 
But true as gold — 
Oh, Mollie, how I love you! 



FINIS. 



This book, my friend, which you have 
read, 

In part I claim as mine; 
But what you cannot understand, 

I grant you, — " make it thine; " 
Though others may its merits see, 

And credit what is due, 
Let them the better part secure, 

And leave the rest for you. 
Should both review this humble work, 

And each the critic play, 
Just try your hand to write a book, 

I 've nothing more to say. 






TABLE OF 



ONTENTS 




&£3 J- -LZ-XJ ^JLJLXX Ajft 




39 








TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Abernethy " floored " 511 

Abernethy's prescription 490 

Abou Ben Adhem 333 

About husbands 534 

Abrara and Zimri 591 

Absalom '. 442 

Absence 40, 150, 181, 366, 413 

Accepted, and will appear 496 

Achusla 1S4 

Across the lot 54 

Actions 272 

Act 306 

Adaline 3 

Adam and Eve 299 

Adam in the garden 123 

Address to the American flag 429 

Adelia 322 

Admission, An. By Frank 154 

Adonis' Death. Prophecy 463 

Adversity 59S 

Advice 110, 138, 357 

Advice to girls 47 

Advice to the wedded 112 

Affection 188 

After I am gone 325 

Aftermath, The 317 

Afterthought, An 311 

After the amateur play 62 

After the theatre 272 

After the Winter 326 

Afterward 368 

A f ton Water 45 

" Ah-Goo " 487 

Ah, list 327 

Ah, me 354 

Airs 226 

Alameda 125, 128 

Alamena 222 

Alas 114, 159, 311, 337, 439 

All for gold 69 

All for money 170 

All shall fade 352 

All through the golden weather 194 

All 's for the best 454, 466 

All 's right 441 

Almiron 110 

Almost 2 

Alone I walked 306 

Although this heart 325 




PAGE. 

Always remembered 248 

Amanda * 203, 272 

Amelia 37 

America 306, 320 

American eagle, The 426 

Americanism, An 510 

Amiability 81 

Among the wild mountains 302 

Amynta 159, 178 

Anchoret, An 191 

Ancients, The 299 

And I ask for nothing more 15 

Anecdote 160 

Anecdotes 518 

Angela 220 

Anger 219 

Anjelica 151 

Ann Maria 484 

Annabel Lee 559 

Anna Maria 137 

Annie 123 

Annie Adair 36 

Annot Lyle's song 335 

Another melodrama 338 

Another view of it 220 

Another world 515 

Answer to Cancao 197 

Any one will do ". 67 

Appearances are deceiving 311 

Apple, An 253 

Apple gathering, An 446 

Appointment, The 34 

Apprehension 296 

Araby's daughter 274 

Arlette 464, 579 

Art and nature 230 

Artifice disowned by love 182 

Art thou forsaken 248 

As Cupid one day 222 

As I was a-wandering 314 

Ask me not, Sylvia 284 

xVsk the lad 365 

Aspirations 163 

As strangers meet 310 

At sea in absence 173 

At the concert 422 

At the masquerade 238 

At the piano 83 

Auction extraordinary 205 





612 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 




TAGE. 

Autograph 90, 502 

Ave Maria 355 

Awaiting by the bars 16 

Awkwardness 531 

Baby, A 64 

Bachelor's reverie, A 461 

Backbiting 176 

Backward _. . . 74 

Bad wife, The 189 

Ball 81 

Ballad stanzas 286 

Banks o' Doon, The 486 

Bargain 31 

Bashfulness. .• 263 

Beautiful Belle 468 

Beautiful Emma 37 

Beautiful Kate 373 

Beautiful Mabel 5 

Beautiful snow 206 

Beautiful, The. To Stella 445 

Beautiful sayings 584 

Beautiful woman, A 439 

Beautiful young lady playing on the or- 
gan, A 503 

Beauty 13, 114, 150, 603 

Beauty and love , 57 

Beauty. Cecil 150 

Beauty and music 146 

Beauty and the moon 16 

Beauty will not always last 279 

Beauty will not last always 511 

Be content 282 

Bed rock 93 

Before sailing 508 

Be good to yourself 382 

Behold the hour 305 

Beit so 108 

Believe me 364 

Believe me, love 51 

Believe them not 90 

Bendemeer's stream 302 

Be quiet or I'll call my mother 160 

Bertha and Sir Charles 320 

Beside the stile 17 

Best of husbands, The 8 

Best of wives, The 42 

Best time for marriage, The 497 

Best wives, The 371 

Betsy and I are out 580 

Between ourselves 24 

Beware 107, 418 

Because 284 

Billy did 13 

Birdlett, The 240 

Black and blue eyes 482 

Blarney stone, The 389 

Blighted love 527 

Blind love 264 

Blindness 376 

Bliss 113 

Blow her up 213 

tP. 




PAGE. 

Blue laws of Connecticut 303 

Bon voyage 394 

Borrowing trouble 376 

Bottom drawer, The 455 

Boys and men 428 

Boys' rights 359 

Boy's soliloquy, A 473 

Brace Lamar 119 

Brave deserve the fair, The 180, 294 

Brave reply, A 368 

Breathes there a soul 32 

Bride, The 153 

Bridegroon, The 377 

Bright-eyed love 176 

Bring Jenny safe home 352 

Broken appointment. The 126 

Bruce and the spider 413 

Buds 39 

Bumble-bee's secret, The 190 

Burning the letters 236 

But if for me , 7 

By and by 144, 337 

By day or night 282 

Bygones 94 

By proxy 389 

By the river 19 

By the sea 11 

Cadi's stratagem, The 422 

Cautious Yankee, A 514 

Cancao 197 

Candidates 70 

Can I again ? 17 

Can I dearest ? 222 

Cannot and will not 271 

Can you ever forget 263 

Can you forget me ? 178 

Can you guess ? 402 

Capital and labor 250 

Caroline 291 

Cause of her grief, The 236 

Cecilia , 124, 146 

Celia 264 

Chambers' Enoch Arden 245 

Chance 198 

Change 10, 265 

Changes 92, 325 

Charity 602 

Charlie Machree 146 

Characteristics 62 

Charity 283, 466 

Charity and thanks 365 

Charms 113 

Charms. Tastes differ 67 

Cheap enough 445 

Chemical analysis 499 

Cheerfulness 437 

Chess board, The 332 

Child and man 202 

Children, The 600 

Children we keep, The 595 

Chivalry 88 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 



613 




PAGE. 

Chloe and Enphelia 131 

Chloris and Fanny 298 

Choice L92 

Choice of friends 44, 510 

Choose a proper time to marry 38 

Church, The 230 

Cinderella 159 

Clarimonde 591 

Cold in the earth 27 

Colin 223 

Colin's complaint 137 

Come back to me 137 

Come, if the love 2S1 

Come, let us kiss and part 34S 

Commend me 110 

Come, rest in this bosom 300 

Come, send around the wine 304 

Come, take the harp 338 

Come tell me 271 

Come not back 186 

Coming events 2S4 

Coming round 557 

Coming time 131 

Conceal yourself 18 

Concealed grief at parting 405 

Conceit 40 

Conduct 75 

Confusion of hearts 202 

Conjugal kiss, A 114 

Connubial love . . . ¥ 517 

Conscience 326 

Consolation 521 

Constancy 57, 165, 192, 472 

Constant sweetheart, A 184 

Constantia 151 

Contentment 262, 322, 352, 457 

Content 395 

Content. Sparking 43 

Conundrum, A ". 268 

Coquetry 198 

Coquette IS, 82 

Coquette, The 147 

Coquette punished, A 212 

Coquettes 263 

Coquette's tragedy. The 331 

Couplets 28S, 295, 325 

Cora 270 

Cornelia 2S7 

Corruption 395 

Could a wild wave 176 

Couldn't keep a secret 04 

Couldn't stand everything 469 

Country girl, A. 119 

Course of true love, The 374 

Courting 39, 205, 266, 487 

Courtin' in the country 235 

Courtship Ill 

Courtship and matrimony 267 

Coward, A 450 

Clara Belle. A mistake 118 

Clasp me 131 




l'AOE. 

Cleander 800 

Clear gone 320 

Clouds 546 

Crank 176 

Crooked slick. The 202 

Cross as any bear 543 

Cruel pa 110 

Cunning Irishman, A 515 

Cupid and Scarlatti 149 

Cupid on the cold steel Ill 

Cupid smiled 288 

Cupid's first dip 179 

Cure for scandal 104 

Curious weather 596 

Custard and mustard 283 

Custom and politeness 13 

Cynthia 299, 341 

Daisy, The 343 

Dalmatia 217 

Dame, A 447 

Damon and Sylvia 312 

Danger 206 

Dangerous 91 

Dare I trust thee ? 20 

Daring 58 

Darling Lulu 190 

Darling Mary 337 

Day returns, my bosom burns, The 483 

Days that are no more, The 447 

Days that are past, The 452 

Dead 329 

Dead love 60 

Dead wife, The 362 

Dear Adonis 300 

Dear Bessie 336 

Dear Castolin 310 

Dear Chloe 143, 296 

Dear Effie 90 

Dear is my little native vale 464 

Dear J ohn 54 

Dear little buttercup, A 476 

Dear maiden 2 

Dear May 245 

Dear son, come home 366 

Dear wife 607 

Death 33S 

Deceit 44, 47, 117 

Defer not 156 

Degree 115 

Dt-lay 56 

Delia 312. 400 

Delia, she sings 45 

Delilah 603 

Delia 123 

Der oak and der vine 432 

Deserted wife, The 195 

Deserted wife, A 12I 

Destiny 412 

Devil, The 5S 

J )iamede 156 

Diamonds blazed, The 196 




614 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 




PAGE. 

Diaphenia 290 

Dickens m camp 352 

Did woman's charm 158 

Difference of opinions 20 

Dilemma, A 434 

Dilemma, The 437 

Dimple on her cheek, The 323 

Disappointed 115 

Disappointment 82 

Discontent 43 

Discreetness 22 

Dissolution. Served him right 433 

Distrust 287, 348 

Division of the earth, The 198 

Divorce 41 

Divorce and reunion 133 

Divorced, The 15 

Ditty, A 179 

Doctors, The 390 

Doctor's epitaph A 498 

Doggreal ballad, A 359 

Domestic virtues 243 

Do not doubt me 597 

Do not regret 478 

Do not say 136 

Don't believe it 243 

Don't marry him, Jane 182 

Don't marry twice 246 

Don't search for an angel 416 

Door step, The 247 

Dora 139 

Dorastus on Eawnia 517 

Dorinda 145, 159 

Doris and Dandy 22 

Do something 465 

Doubt 82 

Doubtful economy 237 

Down in the valley 344 

Dream 40 

Dream, A 123, 187 

Dream of life, A 505 

Dress 281 

Drifted away 98 

Drink 57 

Drink to her 287 

Drunkard, The 81 

Drunkenness 34 

Duelling 596 

Duetto 300 

Dumb swans 397 

Duty of man 595 

Dwelling place, The 396 

Dying boy, The 116 

Dying Fires 82 

Dying Gertrude, The. To Waldegrave.. 401 

Early rising 9 

Easy enough 468 

Easy things 156 

Eavesdropping 293 

Ebon C. Ingersoll's funeral sermon. By 
R. G. Ingersoll 134 




PAGE. 

Echoes 383 

Ecstacy 113, 283 

Eddie's epitaph 365 

Editor overcome, An 503 

Education 509 

Education a foine thing 309 

Elegy on a quid of tobacco , 44 

Elements of success, The 601 

Eleanora 596 

Eliza 328 

Ella 596 

Eleonora 413 

Ellenore 120 

Eloise to Abelard 237 

Eloquence and charms 94 

Embarkation 79 

Embrace - 128 

Emerald ring, The 228 

Emma 158, 510 

Emma to Henry 149 

Empty nest, An 434 

End, The 597 

End for all things, An 31 

End of life, The 121 

End of the story, The 40O 

English proverbs 157 

Enoch Arden at the window 361 

Enough 345 

Eppie Adair 318 

Epistle to her I love , 125 

Epitaph, An 128, 530 

Epitaph for a bachelor 241 

Equality 10 

Estranged hearts 244, 531 

Eulalia 392 

Euphrosyne 178 

Evasive answer, An 365 

Eveleen 214 

Ever true* 207 

Excess 88 

Exchange, The 175 

Exculpation 5 

Explanation, An 52 

Extravagance 63, 396 

Eyes 41 

Fair Eliza 301 

Fair Inconstant, The 147 

Fair Jeannette 163 

Fair Maid. In church 301 

Fair Sembelis 224 

Fair star 326 

Fair traveller, The 147 

Fair Venus, on thy myrtle shrine 2S5 

Faith 218 

Faith in love 162 

Faithful ever 243 

Faithful lovers, The 41 

Faithfulness 248 

False and true 472 

False friend 30 

Fallen out 332 







TABDE OF CONTENTS 




PAOB, 

Fame 340, 506 

Fanny mine 294 

Far as I journey 218 

Farewell. .18, 81, 05, 101, 125, 251, 255, 296, 327 
Farewell, but whenever you welcome the 

hour 25 

Farewell forever 26 

Farewell to Nancy 207 

Farmer Drone's complaint 358 

Farmer's wooing. The 544 

Fashion 78 

Fate 1S7, 507 

Father's tracks 524 

Faults 73 

Faultless man 405 

Favors 73, 260 

Fawning 369 

Feast of the Persian king, The 427 

February freeze, A 153 

Feeling 47 

Fidelity 389 

Fig for those, A 307 

Filial sorrow 26 

Finis 608 

First baby, The. A mother 6 

First love ■. 41 

First man, The 93 

First settler's story, The 406 

First time 374 

Fogg 5S5 

Follow a shadow 204 

Folly 79 

Fool 546 

Fools 535 

Fool's prayer, The 88 

Footprints 164 

For all who die 162 

For an album 340 

For love 160 

For thee 270 

For the old love's sake 79 

For a tablet 52 

For a while 99 

Forbear 142 

Forever 2 

Forever thine 288 

Forever true 152 

Forever yours 272 

For me in future 275 

Forget thee 117 

Forget thee not 112 

Forget me not 332, 356 

Forgetf ulness 21 

Forgive and forget 176 

Forgiven 249, 265 

Forgiving 92 

Forgiveness 29, 72 

For once 395 

Forsaken, The 30 

Fortune 98, 114, 604 

Fortune my foe 464 




PAGE, 

Fountain, The 304 

Fragment, A 598 

Free 75 

Friend in thee, A 44 

Friend of my youth 91 

Friend of the brave 501 

Friends 133, 164, 428, 444, 457, 597 

Friends. Amy 29 

Friendship 44, 93, 223, 292, 317, 360 

Friendship and love 47 

Friendship's wish 164 

Frighten me some more 469 

From afar 309 

From afar off 594 

From Mary far away 244 

From the French 106 

From the Portuguese 114 

Frown not, ye fair 138 

Flattery 18, 125 

Flirt, The 81, 263 

Flora 305 

Florence Vane 356 

Florentine 218 

ITorimel 148 

Flower of love lies bleeding, The 440 

Flower's prophecy, The 428 

Fly, The 211 

Funny 132 

Future life, The 456 

Future years, The 62 

Galileo in prison 425 

Galleybad 343 

Gambling 42, 497 

Garland, The 145 

Garret, The 217 

Gazing 166 

Genevieve 202 

Geraldine 177 

Geraldine's boots 291 

Gilt and Giver, The 320 

Ginerva 379 

Girl I left behind me, The 242 

Girl I love, The 347 

Girlhood 46 

Girls 48, 414 

Girls, don't marry in haste 475 

Give him a lift 414 

Give me 332 

Give me a cot 263 

Give me thine, Alma 7 

Give us a call 58S 

Gives one away 343 

Give thanks for what ? 471 

Give that place to me 412 

Give them not back 226 

Give them now 398, 560 

Glencairn 279 

Glimpse, A 344 

Gloomy November 307 

Glove, A 403 

Glove and the lions, The 341 



>r* 




TABLE OF CONTENTS 




PAGE. 

Godiva 258 

Go feel what I have felt 188 

Go, lovely rose 325 

Go, youth beloved 524 

Good and better 484 

Goodbye! Good byel 15 

Good fellow, A 240 

Good great man, The 378 

Good, if true 281 

Good joke, A 304 

Good-night 465, 76 

Good wife smiled, The 181 

Good words 85 

Goodness 216 

Gold and silver 517 

Golden laws of love, The 53 

Golden rule, The 346 

Gossip 275 

Grace 124 

Graceful 88 

Grateful preacher, The 434 

Gratitude 444 

Grave, The 167 

Graves. A marriage 608 

Greedy. Dear Betty 192 

Green be be the turf 236 

Grief 396 

Grief and danger 271 

Groomsman to his mistress, The 489 

Growth 175 

Grumbling peasants, The 431 

Guard the heart 149 

Guide post, The 419 

Had I a care 398 

Had I a heart 291 

Had we but met 270 

Halo, A 365 

Hallowed ground 72 

Hamlet's soliloquy on his mother's mar- 
riage 230 

Hand and heart 135 

Hands 597 

Happy Ill, 208 

Happy he 74 

Happiness 73, 82, 307, 355, 388, 504 

Happy man, A 452 

Happy man, The 505 

Happy marriage, The 175 

Happy moments 273 

Happy new year to mother, A 175 

Happy pair. The 89 

Happy that man 301 

Hard things to do 255 

Hard words 594 

Hardly a coat to his back 502 

Has any old fellow ? 347 

Has its drawbacks 50 

Haste, my reindeer 337 

Hatred 91 

Haunted 363 

Have you forgot 420 




PAGE. 

Hawks will rob 318 

Hawthorn 454 

Hearts .' 126 

Hearts are trumps 135 

Heart's-ease 435 

Heartless and cold 19 

Heartlessness 261 

Heart of a lover, The 380 

He loves you 119 

He took her hand 282 

He who a watch must wear 83 

Help the helpless 507 

Henpecked Husband, The 354 

Henry's advice to Emma 148 

Henry to Matilda 160 

Henry Ward Beecher says 132 

Her cottage 296 

Her creed 392 

Her gift 265 

Her glove 107 

Her likeness 68 

Her little glove 287 

Her lovers 308 

Her rosy mouth 112 

Her sealskin sacque 46 

Here 's a health to all good lasses 266 

Here, take my heart 238 

Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass 318 

Hermit, The 294 

Hero of the tower, The 491 

High hats , 457 

Highland Mary 95, 307 

Hindoo's death, The 60 

Hint to the " man's girl," A 280 

His muse doth rally 110 

Hit the nail on the head 87 

Home 18 

Home and childhood 135 

Home-coming 489 

Homely proverbs 508 

Honor 318 

Hope 550 

Hope on, hope ever 333 

Hospitality 530 

Hour I pass with thee, The 251 

How can a woman tell ? 94 

How can we tell ? 334 

How cruel is fate 482 

How dear 414 

How dear to me 377 

How Dr. Johnson wooed 502 

How I look at it 18 

How it is done in the west 327 

How I won her 133 

How many lips 306 

How oft have we wandered 253 

How she crushed him 319 

How she told it 544 

How strange it is 550 

How swiftly pass the hours 43 

How to make a poem 533 





TAULD OF CONTENTS 



017 




PAGE. 

How to kiss 222 

How to tell a girl's age 12 

Hubby 123 

Huitain 199 

Human heart, A 179 

Humble love 22!) 

Husband and wife 259, 367 

llymenial. Prosaic poetry 12S 

I am cured 192 

I am going 118 

I am no more what I have been 298 

I am not mad 61 

I am old 323 

I beg of you 152 

I believe, Sarah 5(5 

I believed thee true 330 

I bless thee, wife 366 

I burn 320 

I can ne'er forget thee 203 

I can never hope 16S 

I cannot forget thee 95 

I care not 405 

I change but in dying 222 

I could forgive 272 

I could not hear all they said 12 

I could not help it, no, not I. 478 

I dare affirm 290 

1 did not know 48 

1 did not mean to be so bad 170 

I didn't mean to tell you 60 

I die for thy sweet love 227 

I do confess thou art so fair 312 

I do love violets 231 

I do not love thee 37 

1 don't like to see 172 

I dream of thee 103 

I fear not thy frown , 89 

I feel no pride 244 

I fondly think 344 

I gazed 130 

I had a beau 160 

I had a sailor uncle 27 

I hate 299 

I hate a fool 53 

I have a girl 170 

I have a story 179 

I have a wife 102 

I have found one true heart 223 

I held the skein 546 

I know by the smoke that so gracefully 

curled 165 

I know a little girl 170 

I lately vowed 122 

I laugh at show 101 

I like the lad 383 

I love but one short hour 56 

I love thee 168 

I love the sex 54 

I love you 120 

I loved a lass 59 

I loved thee 284 




PAGE. 

I loved you so 594 

1 met a lady 290 

1 met thee 73 

I ne'er on that lip 339 

I never give a kiss 270 

I never will forget 43 

I only just wanted to know 170 

I ODly loved him 374 

I reject 67 

I saw 333 

I send the lilies 346 

I sometimes think 113 

1 sometimes wonder 57 

I speak not 109 

I speak not of love. Jennie 24 

I spent long years 326 

I think of thee .« 192, 589 

I told you so 275 

I waited anxiously 176 

I want 164 

I want to go where 21 

I was thinking 378 

I watch 120 

I will meet thee 381 

1 will not say I 'd give the world 205 

1 will tell thee 189 

I wish 165 

I wont believe it 255 

I would not die in winter 72 

I 'd give the wide world 76 

I 'd say briefly 20 

Ideal shattered, An 3S4 

Idleness 91 

Idyl, An 9 

If 309, 341 

If a body 298 

If a hundred are good 324 

If dreams were sold 115 

If he should come 307 

If 1 could awake 132 

If I could find 160, 317 

If I should die, Sarah 67 

If I should die to-night 494 

If I should shun 109 

If I think on thee 400 

If I were you ill 

If love but one short hour 56 

If this were so 247 

If thou lovest 230 

If 'tis love to wish you near 266 

If 'twere not for the lasses, O 334 

If we could meet 507 

If we had only known 66 

If woman could be fair 156 

If you ever should marry 201, 413 

If you have a friend 104 

If your friend 393 

If you want a kiss, why take it 64 

Ignorance 124 

111 wind, The 42 

I '11 adore thee 262 





TABLE OF COXTEXTS 



PAGE. 

I '11 ne'er forget you, dear 179 

I '11 tell the truth to Muca 173 

I '11 think of thee 199 

I 'm growing old 158, 231 

Image of pleasure, An 155 

Immediately 24 

Impromptu 106, 441 

Improved Enoch Arden 503 

In a foreign land 2S8 

In a quandary 298 

In bitter scorn 378 

Inconstancy 48, 253, 259, 264 

Inconstant Cynthia 53 

In deep sorrow 348 

Indifference 47 

Indifferent, The 53 

Infatuation 48 

In fetters of gold 470 

Infidelity 530 

Ingersoll's, E. J., address at the grave of 

a litle child 23 

Address at the funeral of B. W. 

Parker 40 

Ingratitude 543 

In living virtue 414 

In luck 281 

Insignificant existence 482 

Inspiration 124 

In submission I yield 48 

In the storms of life 457 

Invalid, The 191 

Iolanthe 95 

Irene 403 

Irish letter. An 84 

Irish melody, An 184 

Is beauty less ? 32S 

Is he rich ? 124 

Is it a crime ? 241 

Is it anybody's business ? 83, 219 

Is life worth living ? 412 

Is there aught like this ? 104 

Is this fancy ? 44 

Is thy name Mary ? 359 

It all depends 21 

It is all one in Venus' wanton school 100 

It is better 86 

It is not best 168 

It is unlucky 456 

It may be for years 594 

It may be glorious to write 1 

It pays 7 

It 's naughty, but it 's nice 369 

Jacqueminots 440 

Jaffar 1S7 

Jane 108 

Japanese fan, A 115 

Jealousy 77, 326, 470 

Jeanie's face 345 

Jeanie's posies 344 

Jennie 30S 

Jennie shelling peas 142 





PAGE. 

Jesse Kersey 339 

Jessie 151 

Jester's sermon, The 100 

Jewels 122, 412 

J im's epitaph 342 

John and Kate 123 

John Jenkins' sermon 585 

Jorasse 256 

Josephine to Napoleon 268 

Joyful widower, The 338 

Joys 292 

Jubilate 460 

Judge not , 56 

Julia s 

Julia and I. Disappointment 51 

Just like a woman 356 

Just like her 330 

Just so 591 

Juniata and Jairus 119 

Justice 92 

Katydid 523 

Keep thy faith 59S 

Kind 302 

Kindness 70, 228 

King David 317 

King of France and the fair lady, A 286 

King's Lesson, The 497 

Kiss, A 376 

Kiss and the smile, The 136 

Kiss at the door, A 486 

Kisses 80, 314, 371, 600, 603, 606 

Kissing 17, 99, 592 

Kissing. Who wouldn't ? 598 

Kissing's no sin 479 

Kissing on the sly 35 

Kiss in the rain, A 57 

Kiss, The 58, 253 

Knife, dear girl, cuts love, they say, A . . . 124 

Knight and Lady Jane, The 174 

Knowledge 70 

Kitty of Coleraine. , 8 

Lady, A 250 

Lady Clara Vere de Vere 429 

Lady Geraldine 324 

Lady's watch, A , 148 

Lais 275 

Lake of beauty, A 314 

Lake Saratoga 387 

Lalage 147 

Lambro's return 551 

Land I love, The 67 

Last appeal, A 480 

Last hours 189 

Last July 215 

Last rose of summer, The 266 

Last woman, The 263 

Last word, The 8 

Last word, The. The many 177 

Last words of a Polish king 462 

Last words 54 

Last year 229 










TABLE OF CONTENTS 







PAGE 

Late rose, The 203 

Laugh 402 

Laughing philosopher, A 428 

Laughter 207 

Lay of a dairy-maid U4 

Leander 7S 

Leap year sketch, A 396 

Leap year waltz ill 

Left unsaid 183 

Legend of Wallin, A 534 

Leila 374 

Lelia 106 

Lely, the painter 505 

Leona 127, 255 

Lenore' s promise 315 

Leora and Jacob 284 

Lesbia has a beaming eye 325 

Lessons of the street, The 394 

Let her go 212 

Let it pass 401 

Let us not dwell 316 

Let us try to be happy 456 

Letter, A 92, 234 

Letter G, The 346 

Letters, The 232 

Lied like a lawyer 8 

Lies 214 

Life 531, 589 

Life is short 145 

Life's track 164 

Like Job 91 

Lilla McCann 182 

Lillian 433 

Lily 106 

Lines for an album 372 

Lines on love 7 

Lines on seeing wife and children sleep- 
ing in the same chamber 347 

Lines on tight dresses 167 

Lines with geraniums and rose leaves ... 160 

Link, A 48 

Lisanta 44 

Listen 238 

Literary curiosity, A 347, 355 

Little Bell 170 

Little maiden of years ago, A 314 

Living 70, 495 

Live in my heart 207 

Live well 447 

Lizzie 356 

Lock of hair, The 240 

Lofty faith 205 

Look at the roses 144 

Look before you leap 445 

Longest day will have an end, The 169 

Longing 529 

Long, long ago 473 

Loss 93, 103 

Losses 322 

Lost 47 

Lost letter, A 73 




Lost sister, The 

Loura 

Love 80, 94, 15S, 200, 274, 

3S7, 3S8, 389, 446, 504, 580, 598, 599, 600, 

Love and death 

Love and dinner 

Love and jealousy 

Love and law 

Love and lust 

Love at auction 

Love at first sight 

Love disarmed 

Love. Doubt 

Love. Ella 

Love hath eyes 

Love hath wove a garland 

Love in absence 

Love in her sunny eyes 

Love is eternal 143, 

Love is like the glass 

Love lightens labor 

Love me, girls 

Love not 156, 

Love quarrel, A 

Love run out 

Love-set, A 

Love song, A 

Love sounds the alarm 

Love that stays, The 

Love test, A 

Love, the conqueror 

Love thy neighbor as thyself 

Love to thee 

Love. Two women 

Love your neighbor as yourself 

Loved one was not there, The 

Lover, A 

Lover's anger, A 

Lover's quarrel, A 

Lover's return, The 

Lovely girls 

Lovely Louise 

Lovely Mary Donnely 

Lovely Thais 

Love's afterthought ■. 

Love's arithmetic 

Love's delight 

Love's follies 

Love's limit 

Love's melodrama 

Love's memory 

Love's omnipresence 

Love's power 

Love's quandary 

Lucille 

Lucille DeNevers 

Lucy 

Luella 

Lulu 

Lust , 

Lute player, The , 



490 
171 

605 
180 
358 
597 
415 
432 

90 
342 
138 
390 
348 

87 

70 
267 

30 
347 
228 
3S1 
254 
354 

63 
155 
177 
233 
288 
514 
274 
501 
3 

26 
150 

50 

233 

127 

145 

5 

78 
122 
151 
370 
414 
316 

10 
149 
354 
319 
388 
482 
202 
152 

14 

12 

20 
372 
333 




TABLE OF CONTENTS 




PAGE. 

Lutes and hearts 172 

Madeline 332 

Maggie, darling 183 

Maid and the sailor, The 2 

Maid who binds her warrior's sash, The. . 523 

Maiden, The 29, 130, 206 

Maid's tragedy, The 105 

Maiden with a milking pail, The 503 

Maidens, like moths 93 

Maiden's psalm of life, A 316 

Maiden's choice, The 393 

Man may, A 301 

Man may bear 267 

Man may be happy 281 

Man who in life, The. 81 

Man — woman 393 

Man 's a fool 186 

Man's estate 316 

Man's life 389 

March to Moscow, The 527 

Marie 21 

Marriage 49, 69, 281, 282, 381, 382, 463, 523, 528 

Marriage ceremony 159 

Married 63 

Married ladies 181 

Married scholar, The 104 

Married this morning 502 

Marry for love 267 

Marthy Ellen 483 

Mary 3, 96, 535 

Mary and her little ram 96 

Masquerade 397 

Matrimony 523 

Maud 363 

May 152 

May and beauty 148 

May be 16 

May regret, A 329 

May there be 329 

May thy fair bosom 103 

May you 418 

Mazarka 174 

Meditation 49 

Meet me by moonlight 370 

Meet me half way with a kiss 244 

Meeting, The 602 

Meeting adjourned, The 601 

Meeting of the waters, The 363 

Melancholy 445 

Memory 121, 131, 164, 190, 364, 441, 468 

Men 120 

Mercy 286 

Merit 240 

Mertie Gray 172 

Message, A 256 

Methinks 263 

Mignonette 169 

Milkmaid, The 606 

Minerva 6, 295 

Miniature, The 450 

Miracle of the roses, The 210 




PAGE. 

Miriam True 59 

Misapprehension ill 

Mischief makers 559 

Misery 168 

Miss Minerva's disappointment 558 

Misses 49 

Mister Macanality 183 

Mitten, The 20 

Model woman, A 237 

Modern wedding ceremony 262 

Modest wit, A 234 

Mollie 151 

Moment's thinking, A 78 

Money 42 

Money is king 100 

Moon's light, The 362 

Moral, A 218 

Moral cosmetics 380 

More than one 50 

Morley and the maid 141 

Moss rose, The 523 

Mother and child 163 

Mother. Content 369 

Mother's boy 580 

Mother love 346 

Mother said, The 57 

Mother's fool 475 

Mother's hand, The 98 

Mothers-in-law 418 

Mother's room 550 

Mother's shingle 455 

Mottoes and couplets 153 

Mule, The 170 

Murderer, The 148 

Murdering beauty 439 

Music 559 

Must never touch mine 435 v 

My Absalom 128 

My answer 542 

My beautiful boy 310 

My boyhood 239 

My brown-eyed Jean 109 

My cigarette 460 

My country 82 

My dark-haired girl 251 

My darling J ane 405 

My dear son 336 

My dear wife 245, 601 

My dream of love is o'er 95 

My evil star 260 

My first love, and my last 457 

My friend 344, 429 

My friends are not like thine 438 

My Geraldine 248 

My girl 59S 

My Jean 303, 304 

My Juliette 181 

My lady dearly loves a pretty bird 200 

My lady friend 371 

My Lizzie 27 

My lost love 227 



^ 



i 




TABLE OF CONTENTS 





PAGE. 

My love, my own 323 

My lover 122, 369 

My Lucy 438 

My Mary 41S. 453 

My Mother 18, 199, 331. 356, 108 

My Mother-in-law 405 

My old love 273 

My partner 136 

My Scilla fair 138 

My secret 547 

My signet ring 537 

My sweetheart 165 

My son 317 

My time 122 

My true love has my heart 384 

My uncle Augustus 358 

My wife 524 

My wife and 1 308. 595 

My wife and son 459 

My wedded wife 340 

Myra 151 

Name, A 49 

Nancy 11, 345 

Napoleon and the British sailor 536 

National anthem ■. 271 

Natural 128 

Nature IS, 187, 510 

Nature changes not 7 

Naughty, but sweet 124 

Nay, if you read this line 370 

Nay, shepherd, nay. 232 

Nay, tempt me not 295 

Near the lake 451 

Necessity has no law 367 

Neighbor Jones 376 

Nelly 155 

Never give up 454 

Never: hardly ever 64 

Never was a couple prouder 98 

New Mother Shipton, A 483 

New love 297 

New York alderman, The 51 

U ew Year 282 

Nice correspondent, A 224 

Nice point, A 189 

Nickerdemus' quadrille 248 

Night 002 

Nightingale and the glow worm, The 403 

Noble nature 373 

No bitterness 90 

No goose so gray 48 

No longer 175 

No longer jealous 218 

No more of love 324 

Xo partnership 154 

No power 27 

No surrender 440 

"No, thank you, John," 446 

No wife 144 

No woman should know 93 

Nosegay, The 269 



PAGE 

Not a woman's part 232 

Not as I should be 301 

Not always what they seem 206 

Not built, and built that way 394 

Not forgotten 441, 463, 537 

Nothing to wear 99 

Not one to spare 1 :>4 

Novels, True 49 

N ut-brown hair, A 200 

( )ad to the Atlantic cable , 437 

Observatory remarks 471 

Obstinacy 298, 506 

Ode, An 126, 286 

Ode to the beautiful 120 

O'er woodland and mountains 106 

Of all the flowers 343 

Of all the good things 14 

Oft as thine eye 455 

Oft have I blushed 263 

O, fond heart 174 

O, happy love 287 

O, heart 5 

O, I was happy yesternight 91 

O, maiden dear 414 

O, that a year 34 

O, the pleasant days of old 528 

O, woman 2S3 

Oh, best of delights 397 

Oh, but to hear 314 

Oh, doubt me not, Ellen 216 

Oh, for a home 455 

Oh, fly 536 

Oh, Heaven be kind 399 

Oh, lovely eyes 208 

Oh, Mollie, how I love you 008 

Oh, my 532 

Oh, my love has an eye 189 

Oh, never ask me why 244 

Oh, no, we never mention him. 529 

Oh, say not woman's heart is bought 242 

Oh, think not my spirits are always so 

light 330 

Oh, 'tis sweet to think 372 

Oh, woman 240 

Old '. 524 

Old age 88 

Old letters 182 

Old limbs 226 

Old maid, The 191 

Old maids 48 

Old myth, An 292 

Old proverb, An 430 

Old Rhyme, An 56 

Old-school punishment 461 

Old song, An 460 

Old story, An 24 

O, let us no longer 362 

On a coxcomb 422 

On Agypt's banks 28 

On a critic 433 

On late-acquired wealth 420 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 




On the picture of an infant playing near 

a precipice 166 

On receiving a love-letter 171 

On the beach 27 

On the brink 223 

Once more 181, 583 

One curl 330 

One day 335 

One evening at the beach 125 

One good life.. 327 

One gray hair, The 384 

One I love, The 498 

One morning, on the seashore 189 

One way true, The 1 

One side 102 

One summer night 106 

One to be won 167 

Only 69 

Only a pretty face 61 

Only a woman 488 

Only friends 59 

Only gone away 594 

Only gift he offered me, The 466 

Only this walk to the stile 404 

Oratory 380 

Order 463 

Origin of the harp 98 

Original love story, An 9 

Othello's account of his courtship of Des- 

demona 448 

Other fellows think so too 485 

Other side, The 102 

O Tibbie, I have seen the day 306 

Our days 237 

Our lives 453 

Our own 75 

Our world of long ago 69 

Our young folks 113 

Over-candid 396 

Over -much 38 

Over the way 501 

Over the hill from the poor-house 547 

Over the hill to the poor-house 423 

Paddy Blake's echo 195 

Paddle your own canoe 211 

Painful story, A 336 

Painter 300 

Pansies 55 

Paring apples 469 

Parting 47, 62, 63, 76, 173, 214, 599 

Parting, A 511 

Parting, The 19, 46 

Parting kiss, The 123 

Parting time 241 

Parvenu's opinion, The 445 

Pa's consent 152 

Passer-by, A , 231 

Pastora 29 

Path we loved, The 203 

Patrick and Biddy 480 

Paul i 352 




PAGE. 

Peacock, The 155 

Penitent's prayer, A 514 

Perchance 206 

Perfect bliss. Alameda 6 

Perfection 237, 469, 608 

Perfect woman, A 108 

Perish the fiend 283 

Perseverance , 46, 74, 479 

Phebe and Asteria 292 

Philosophy 43 

Phrenology 70 

Philosopher Toad 607 

Phyllis 148 

Picture, A 101 

Picture, The 40 

Pilgrims of Glenville, The 224 

Pity 88 

Place in thy heart, A 63 

PI an case, A 434 

Platonic 171 

Plea for " Castles in the air," A 464 

Please to ring the belle 217 

Pleasures 285 

Pluck 370 

Plumber, A 233 

Pocket handkerchief, The 52 

Poem of passion, A 280 

Poetical proverbs 246 

Policy 72 

Polonius' advice to his son 55 

Pontius and Pontia 168 

Poor indeed 219 

Pop-corn 54s 

Portia's picture 393 

Portrait, A 329 

Portrait, The 197 

Past election paragraphs 471 

Posy 369 

Pouting and sadness 331 

Power of poetry to confer fame, The 49 

Praise 72 

Praise of little women 305 

Prayer of Plato, The 412 

Precious gift, A 38 

Presumption 22 

Pretty Chloris waits on me 159 

Pretty girl of Loch-Dan, The 373 

Pretty maid of "Whitson, The 42 

Pretty working girl, The 462 

Pride of beauty, The 451 

Pride of dress 124 

Pride of May 221 

Prince Adeb 276 

Priscilla 102 

Prithee, madam 58 

Profanity 119 

Prompt reply, A 304 

Primroses 142 

Proper place for courting, The 358 

Prophesy 61 

Proposal 281 

AC! 



s2®?^ 






-b 



TAHLE OF CONTENTS 




Proposal, A 343 

Prosaic poetry 92 

Proverb 171 

Proverb, A 42 

Proverbial 211 

Proverbs, couplets, etc 43 

Providence 290 

Proximity 6 

Proxy saint, The 421 

Pullback, A 60 

Puzzled Dutchman, A 115 

Quack medicines 586 

Quaker's Meeting, The 185 

Query 166, 182 

Question. A 420, 594 

Question to Scylla, The 23 

Quiet friend, A 134 

Quits 315 

Kabbinical origin of women, The 28S 

Ragged pair, A 32 

Rainy day, A 269, 444 

Read it 52 

Read this 596 

Read ye 5S 

Reason why, The ' 96, 393 

Reasonable affliction, A 149 

Rebuked 1S3 

Rebus, A 232 

Recollection of friends 416 

Reconciliation 224 

Red-haired girl, The 342 

Reflection S7 

Refusal, The 14 

Regret 462 

Rejectedlove 365 

Rel iance 47 

Religion 360 

Religious people OSS 

Remember. .14, 109, 152, 174, 213, 2S7, 339, 507 

Remember me 118, 190, 261, 367 

Remember thee 284, 351 

Remembrance 452 

Remembrance, A 273, 366 

Remorse 294, 599 

Renunciation, A 335 

Reputation 377 

Resignation S5, S6 

Resound, ye hills 241 

Rest 56 

Retaliation 3S6 

Retort, A 45 

Retrospective review, A 47S 

Return of Beppo, The 53!) 

Returned soldier, The 324 

Revenge in crime 59 

Reversing 219 

Rha-cus 590 

Riband, The 474 

Rich 214 

Rich. Inconstancy 420 

Riches 2S3, 305, 383 




PAGE. 

Right sort of a girl, The 176 

Righteousness 24 

Ring, The 332 

Ring of gold, The 279 

Ring you wear, The 270 

Rivalry in love 450 

Robbery 482 

Romance 543 

Rondeau 426 

Rosa 233 

Rosalie 227 

Rosalie Clare 216 

Rosamond 346 

Rose, The 196, 323, 467 

Roses 124 

Roses, The 240 

Roses and rue 382 

Rose bush. The 209 

Rosy wish 174 

Royal guest, The 61 

Rudeness 148 

Ruin and loss 438 

Rules for courtship 250 

Ruling passion, The 28 

Rumor 85 

Rum's tidal wave 533 

Rural reminiscence, A 494 

Sacrifice 287 

Sadie's trials 497 

Sadly disappointed 509 

Sadness 84 

Safe 151 

Safety ( 280 

Said Fannie to Kate 388 

Sailor's prayer, A 514 

Saint Elise 222 

Sam 154 

Same " Old Story." 599 

Sampson 93 

Saphrona 299 

Sappho to Phaon 242 

Sarah, dear 270 

Sarcasm ■ 462 

Satisfaction 595 

Satisfied 28» 

Save your kisses for your husband 328 

Say 126 

Sayings 500 

Says Kate 251 

Schoolmarm, The 501 

Scorn 36 

Scorn and hate 31 

Sea holds, The. Minerva 93 

Seaside flirtation, A 387 

Seaside incident, A 74 

Secresy protested 53 

Secure 31 

Seduction 371, 381 

Send back my heart 221 

Sense 291 

Sensible 95, 598 




624 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 




PAGE. 

Sensibility 374 

Sensible young lady, A 1 

Separation 175, 378, 543 

Servility 118 

Shad, The 300 

Shadow on the blind, The 578 

Shall I forget thee 234 

Shall we, dearest, meet again 319 

Shall we meet again 29 

Sharp 523 

She 175 

She I loved 126 

She is not fair 302 

She loved 44 

She loved me for myself 112 

She must thank her stars T 149 

She stopped me 2 

She sung of love 341 

She whom I have cherished 138 

She whom I love 38 

Shilling saved, A 338 

Ship, The 172 

Short lectures 468 

Should e'er unhappy love 226 

Sigh. A 185 

Signing the farm away 450 

Silent farewell, The 214 

Silent lover, The 156 

Silver wedding, The 419 

Sincerity. Cynthia 84 

Since you have gone 232 

Sing all thy life 88 

Singing school, The 100 

Sister's love, A 125 

Six times I've written , 131 

Skating and courting 522 

Skating rink, The 226 

Sketch, A 4 

Slander 25, 86, 118, 370 

Sleep v. ... 507 

Sleep, maiden 333 

Slight mistake, A 50 

Sluggard's garden, The 80 

Small beginnings 586 

Smart gal, A 259 

Smiles 529 

Smiles and kisses 135 

Smile on me still .' 265 

Snake, The 242 

Snake in the grass 412 

So brief our existence 26 

So goes the world 403 

So haughty 464 

So live 343, 421 

So pretty and witty 315 

So she refused him 10 

So tender and so true 86 

Society 284 

Socrates Snooks 239 

Sold 14 

Soldier's dream, The 215 

f. 




PAGE. 

Soldier's widow, The 369 

Solitude 383, 599 

Some day 39 

Somehow or other we get along 340 

Some men 99 

Some mortals there may be 260 

Some sweet stars are shining 68 

Sometime 30, 357, 465, 559, 585, 602 

Somewhere 427 

Song 50, 119, 147, 150, 217, 300 

Song of the brook 603 

Song for the discontented 589 

Song of the peasant wife 209 

Song. My Winifreda 105 

Songs in sleep 447 

Song to * * * * , 122 

Son-in-law 71 

Sonnet 211, 468 

Sonnet to 269 

Sonnet to my mother 522 

Sophia 245 

Sophia. One blink of your eye 188 

Sorrows of Werther, The 166 

'Specially Jim 74 

Speculation 69 

Speech of silence, The 601 

Spirit departed, A 479 

Spleen 239 

St. Peter's politeness 401 

Stanzas 149 

Star vows 313 

Station of rest, The 400 

Steadfast swain, The 207 

Stella 108 

Stella looked on 339 

Stewed or fried 199 

Still the same 141 

Stolen kiss, A 191 

Stone the woman, let the man go free 71 

Story of a muff 255 

Story of the gate 436 

Story of two old people, The 329 

Strange 296 

Stranger, The 357 

Streams 378 

Strike now 318 

String around my finger, A 271 

Strong love. 309 

Style 158, 169 

Sublime 127 

Success 87 

Such a duck 67 

Such always may you be 343 

Such is life 532 

Sunday and Sabbath 281 

Sunnit to a big ox, A 204 

Sunset 284 

Sun will never tan you, The 500 

Suppose 229 

Susan and 1 380 

Suspense 373 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 




TACE. 

Swans sing 101 

Swearing 87 

Sweet brunette, The 320 

Sweet Florence 118 

Sweet good night 98, [56 

Sweet Jessie 208 

Sweet lady love 1S1 

Sweet meeting of desires 512 

Sweet seducer 342 

Sweet were his words 414 

Sweetest girl in town, The 371 

Sweetest moment. The 457 

Sweetheart, farewell 521 

Sweetheart Nell, 35 

Sylvia 29 

Sympathy 534, 606 

Take care, fair lady 286 

Take it back, please 541 

Tale, A 145 

Talmage on marriage 391 

Task, A 90 

Taste 416 

Tattlers . . 439 

Taxes 84 

Teacli us to wait 421 

Teaching by example 384 

Tear, The 117 

Tears 404 

Tell me 112, 211 

Tell him " no." 114 

Temperance 83 

Temperance arraignment 194 

Temperance lecture, A 57 

Temper 119 

Tempted 89 

Tender and pleasant thoughts 266 

Tender and true 172 

Tender hearts 168 

Tenderness ^ 29 

Test of love, The '. 165 

Than to remember me 323 

Thank her then 67 

Thanks 386 

That face 585 

That meeting 107 

That settled it 315 

That silent moon 604 

Theatre 63 

Then and now 126 

Then we shall be even 507 

There are' moments 39S 

There is a blushing bud 196 

There is a garden in her face 18 

There is a love 229 

There 's a bliss 48 

There never yet was flower fair in vain . 399 

There 's many a trouble 456 

There 's not a look 341 

There 's time enough yet 313 

They 18 

They bore him to his mother 298 

40 




PAGE. 

They know not my heart 344 

They met 130 

They sin 308 

Things we know, The 392 

Think of me 512 

This earth is decked 215 

This lesson 69 

This world 283 

Thompson Green and Harriet Hale 93 

Thou 155 

Thou art changed 4, 192 

Thou fair but faithless one 180 

Thou knowest I love thee 301 

Though lost to sight, to memory dear 354 

Though ray many faults 174 

Thoughts 509 

Thoughts on the liquor question 133 

Three girls 201 

Three loves 209 

Three wives, The 445 

Throbs of love, The 183 

Tie, The 386 

Tillie 300 

Till I forget 124 

Time 150, 178 

Time conquers all 237 

Timidity 118 

Times go by turns 326 

'Tis better 597 

'Tis ever thus 37 

'Tis hard 392 

'Tis nature's plan 109 

'Tis no sin 57 

'Tis only a violet 101 

'Tis said 128 

'Tis strange 396 

'Tis sweet 535 

'Tis sweet to be deceived by thee 153 

'Tis the last time 158 

'Twas loving thee too well 196 

Toast, A 118 

Toast. To woman 602 

Tobacco 83 

Together, You and 1 17 

Told at the tavern 499 

Toleration 137 

To-morrow 80 

To-morrow cheats us all 12 

To 30, 27 

To Alice 6 

To Amynta 405 

To a bachelor 603 

To a beautiful stranger 3SS 

To a dear friend 103 

To a distant friend 291 

To a false friend 458 

To a forsaken mistress 207 

To a friend 474 

To a kiss 331 

To a lady 87, 155 

To a scheming friend 173 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 




PAGE. 

To a young man 105 

To a youthful friend 113 

To an absent one 3G 

To an old sweetheart 294 

To be beloved 156 

To Caroline 1 

To Cynthia weeping 516 

To Cynthia weeping and not speaking . . 146 

To Deborah 150 

To Eliza 105 

To Elsie 282 

To fickle Ellen 36 

To his coy love 206 

To Ianthe 285 

To Irene 107 

To Julia weeping 136 

To Leonora 21 

To lovely L 284 

To lovely L. A dream 121 

To Lucille 181 

To Lura 414 

To Mary 127, 143, 200 

To Mary in heaven 356 

To Maud on her birthday 266 

To Melissa 282 

To Mildred 290 

To Minnie 108 

To Miss A. G 300 

ToMss M 123 

To Mr. Howard 141 

To Myra 143, 226 

To my absent son, Frank 259 

To my gentle cousin 285 

To my husband 167 

To my nose 201 

To my sister 133 

To my son, Frank 207 

To my son on his birthday 375 

To my wife 597 

To please a wife 601 

To romance 100 

To Sylvia 144 

To the blest Evanthe 511 

To the distant one 294 

To the nymph 150 

To Vierna 260 

To whom it may concern 186 

Too candid by half 436 

Too great a scrifice 68 

Too late 264 

Too often the case 94. 

Too sweet to end in death 123 

Tramp wood-sawyer 53 

Treachery 518 

Treason 86 

Treasures of the deep, The -. 538 

Tree of knowledge, The 240 

Tribute, A 13 

Tribute to Henry Ward JBeecher 349 

Tribute to woman 605 

Triumph of death, The 297 




PAGE. 

True 12, 52, 227, 594 

True and kind 367 

True friendship 200 

True love 297, 307, 535 

True love can never die 121 

True maid, A . 151 

True Teaching 604 

True to me 85 

True to the last 594 

True value of wealth 234 

Trust 75, 311, 333, 582 

Trust her not 117 

Trust me 294 

Truth 214, 251, 376' 

Twenty years ago 582 

Twice 143 

Two 495 

Two birds, The 221 

Two of a kind 280 

Two of them. Mixed 147 

Two partings 2S0 

Two sisters 399 

Two tender eyes 311 

Turning of Orpheus, The 453 

Tyranny 292 

Umbrella on the beach, The 250 

Unchanged 320 

Uncommon 245 

Undeceived 13 

Under dog, The 38 

Under the moonlight 57 

Under the rose 181 

Under the umbrella 548 

Unfulfilled 68 

Union 12 

Unity S7 

Universal love 515 

Unless you love 70 

Unspoken 11 

Unwritten book, The 364 

Up hill 201, 369 

Upon a sea of love 224 

Vain resolution, A 196, 254, 532 

Valedictory, The 419 

Valley of tears, The 549 

Valentine, A 453 

Value 526 

Venus and Vulcan 431 

Verses in praise of angling 531 

Vice 84 

Victim, The 433 

Victor and Adelaide 21 

Vierna, fairest one 300 

Voiceless 327 

Violets 529 

Virtue 86, 118 

Voices of the night 299 

Vows S7 

Wake thee 180 

Wanderer, The , 601 

Warm young heart, The 438 





TABLE OF CONTEXTS 




PAGE. 

Warning, The 116 

"Warnings 322 

Water lady, The L25 

Wealth 18, 530 

Wealth and poverty 603 

We are not old 28 

We can cry quits and be good friends 16 

We cannot go so far 85 

We change 180 

Wed 251 

Wedded 55 

Wedlock 89, 208 

Weep 328 

Weigh. A 414 

Welcome, The 213 

We lingered 71 

We love 122 

We love but few 443 

Well-a-day 328 

We met 296, 474 

We must not part as others do 366 

We part 27, 329, 395 

We parted 31 

We parted in silence 142 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain 399 

We shall have our moonlight yet 262 

Westward, ho! 430 

We two 85, 293 

What can a young lassie do ? 313 

What can I do ? 308 

What have I done ? SI 

What I speak 145 

What I want 375 

What is a chump ? 79 

What is one smile worth 10 

What is the name ? 241 

What is the use? 5S2 

What it 's coming to 138 

What lack we yet? 49 

What my lover said 377 

What shall we say ? 402 

What she said 279 

What was his creed ? 342 

What will you do ? 20S 

What win I ? 270 

What would I choose ? 467 

When as in silks my Julia goes 3S4 

Whence is it? 152 

When cold in the earth 345 

Whene'er I think of thee 318 

When first I met her 360 

When first they met 119 

When gentle music 216 

When hearts are sad 197 

When he who adores thee 370 

When I am dead 162, 339 

When I grow weary, Mary 51 

When I loved you 338 

When I mean to marry 421 

When I see some dark hill 101 

When I was a boy 168 



l'AGE. 

When my charms 144 

When nature weeps 371 

When o'er each babe 131 

When stars are in the quiet skies 295 

When that old ring was new 404 

When the leaves come back in spring . . . 109 

When the Sultan goes to Ispahan 519 

When the sun sinks to rest 204 

When they are gone 322 

When we meet again 420 

When we two parted 395 

When women begin 17 

Where fall the tears 68 

Where have you been ? 333 

While making love to Mary 261 

Whilst as fickle fortune smiled 166 

Whispering 532 

Whistler, The 227 

White and red. The 68 

Who breathes 201 

Who can direct 428 

Who can say ? 19 

Who, looking backward 66 

Whom to ask 222 

Whom should I marry 375 

Who plants the willow 537 

Whose choice 215 

Who was kissed 484 

Why ? 94, 142, 272 

Why do we quarrel ? 292 

Why he kissed the lady 309 

Why thus longing 526 

Why tinge the cheek 167 

Why turn away 368 

Why woman blushes 369 

Widower 86 

Widower, The 354 

Widow Malone 506 

Wife, A 4, 505 

Wife, children and friends 95 

Wife to husband 99, 605 

Wife wanted, A 77 

Wife's appeal, The 71 

Wife's devotion , 132 

William 17 

William Brown, of Oregon 583 

William Tell in wait for Gessler 458 

Willow tree, The 228 

Will you be only mine 133 

Will you love me then 25 

Will you not : 14 

Wimmin, The 319 

Winifreda 174 

Winter idyl, A 254 

Wise answer, A 54 

Wish, A 151, 279, 412, 501 

Wish, The 213, 476, 599 

Wishbone, A 49S 

Wishing 397 

With a garland 153 

With friends all around 95 





TABLE OF CONTENTS 




Woes 459 

Woman 6, 58, 75, 82, 131, 271, 272, 

291, 327, 373, 374, 535, 541, 546, 557, 560, 597 

Woman and beauty 542 

Woman in the case, A 397 

Womankind 5 

Woman may err 58 

Woman with a mission, A 6 

Woman's answer, A 173 

Woman's complaint, A 130 

Woman's heart 55 

Woman's inconstancy 204 

Woman's love 292 

Woman's will 83, 373 

Women 250 

Women and apples 229 

Women, men's shadows 855 

Won't you 290 

Woodland hallo, The 346 

Woodland tragedy, A 372 

Words 82 

Words. Truth 463 

World, The 241, 401 

World is full of roses, The 149 

Worldlings 155 

World's way, The 131 

World well lost. The 441 

World would be better, The 386 

Worth them all 522 

Write to me often 117 

Writing 46 

Wrong 81 

Wrongs of love, The 219 

Would my Delia know 394 

Would you 14 

Would you know who has my vow 196 



PAGE. 

Yankee, The 526 

Yankee counsel, A 517 

Yankee stakeholder, A 506 

Yarn of a skein, A 19 

Yearning 324 

Years may come and go 136 

Ye hypocrites 301 

Ye muses 206 

Ye shepherds so gay 174 

Ye stoics 236 

Yet once again 94 

Yielding to temptation 267 

Yon hills 334 

You 558 

You kissed me 127, 476 

You love no longer 166 

You may smile 46 

Yon remember Ellen 336 

You said 395 

You think I am happy 75 

You will remember 470 

Young bride, The 275 

Young Highlander, A 118 

Young Ellen Loraine 480 

Young Jessie 317 

Young ladies, beware 201 

Young pairs 269 

Young wife's song, The 130 

Young women and young men 402 

Your coming 398 

Your neighbor 330 

Youssouf 383 

Youth 538 

Youth is not rich in time 426 

Youthful recollection, A 290 






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X*?s?X<*e*+< T in 



